Love and War
by Mikage1
Summary: Four years after ascending to the throne of the Great Demon Kingdom, Yuuri is forced to confront his feelings when a situation with the humans incites a marriage between himself and Wolfram. Post-Season Two fic. COMPLETE
1. Commencer

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by**: Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Starts four years post-Season Two. Please ignore all OVAs, as well as Season Three. I began writing this long before Season Three was even announced, and I have no intention of changing the entire story in order to fit everything that was newly introduced. I may use certain Season Three characters at some point, such as Sara, but overall Season Three or any of the new characters introduced within it have no part in this fic.

**Rating:** A majority of this fic will be rated PG-13/T. However, by the end it should have successfully risen to R/M.

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**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter One - Commencer - To Begin  
**

A lot had changed since the day the Great One had gone for good, since the boxes had been destroyed and the darkness that had been unleashed faded away. Yuuri liked to think that they were headed towards brighter times, that all that had happened before and everything that was going on now was truly leading them to a time of peace and serenity. The humans and the demon people had finally begun to work together, bridging the gaps that had once existed between their two races, their hatred for one another decreasing, and the violence temporarily ceasing.

It was what Yuuri had been working towards since he first became the king of the Great Demon Kingdom, all those years ago when he'd found himself sucked down a toilet and thrust into this strange, new world. Forty-eight months had gone by since then, four years that had seen heroic adventures, dangerous battles, and tragedies and triumphs alike. He'd successfully retrieved the Demon Sword Morgif, stopped a civil war from breaking out between some of the demon tribe territories, located the Demon Flute, made friends with rulers of human countries, found all four boxes, and saved the entire world from certain destruction.

Through all that it was only apparent the he would grow up, his adolescence slowly but surely leading him into adulthood. He'd aged four years, and although he'd been considered an adult in the Great Demon Kingdom at the age of sixteen, he was just shy of reaching the required age in Japan. He was no longer a child; he wasn't as stupid and naive as he'd once appeared. He'd gotten used to his duties as king, had been taught the ways of politics by Günter, had spent numerous hours with the lavender haired man drilling so much information into his head that there wasn't much room left to hold any more.

He could now read and write in the demon language just as well as he spoke it, talked with dignitaries and representatives of different countries about treaties and trade agreements as if he'd been doing so all his life, could discuss foreign policies and national security as well as he could baseball. All the long, boring hours he'd spent locked in the castle study with his royal adviser had paid of immensely. He no longer seemed like such a fool while looking over maps with Gwendal and Hube as they discussed battle and defensive tactics, no longer seemed like such a simpleton, but more like a real king should be.

He'd gotten much better at fighting with a sword as well, had spent many afternoons out on the castle grounds with Wolfram, allowing the blond haired youth to teach him the proper way to handle a blade. It had been tiring and difficult, as Wolfram had refused to go easy on him, and their little skirmishes had resulted in more than a few bumps and bruises, but the only alternative would have been to train with Conrad. At first, Yuuri thought it would have been easier and less hazardous that way, but after taking a week to work with the brown haired man he'd found that his guardian was even more strict about such things than his younger brother, and the demon king had found himself crawling back to the blond noble after five days.

Now he discovered that the art of swordplay came much easier to him, and he was able to defend himself against attacks without needing much help. His offensive skills had improved as well, and he could easily hold his own against Wolfram, when he would have been lucky to be able to disarm him before. They weren't exactly equals, but Yuuri could now give his friend a run for his money, the two of them taking the time to practice together whenever the king wasn't busy with his other duties. This pleased Wolfram to no end, Yuuri knew, as the blond had long since been looking for the perfect way to spend time with him.

But his abilities hadn't been the only thing to change over the years. His appearance had gone through a few changes, too, ones he thought were for the better. Despite the Mazoku blood that he possessed, they'd all discovered that he was aging more like a human, his other half seeming more dominant than the demon side of him. He was still young, not even twenty yet, but he'd aged quite a bit in the last four years. His facial features had sharpened; he didn't look like such a little boy anymore, and his dark eyes didn't look so wide and innocent. He was beginning to take after his older brother, the family resemblance becoming a little more noticeable with each new year.

He'd grown his hair out at Wolfram's insistence, the thick black strands almost long enough to brush against his shoulders. The blond noble claimed that it made him appear more regal, like the Great Demon King did whenever he was released, which was becoming less and less these days as Yuuri learned to tap into his magic on his own. Personally, he liked his hair better short, but it was either grow it out of have Wolfram bugging him about it everyday. Anyone in the Great Demon Kingdom could tell you which was the less annoying of the two.

He didn't seem so scrawny anymore, either, had grown taller, stronger, bulking up somewhat in order to improve not only his sword skills, but his catching abilities as well. He still had a ways to go before being close to Gwendal in stature, as the grumpy dark haired man was still inches taller and far stronger than him, but he'd almost caught up to Conrad, who always looked at him with so much pride in his warm brown eyes, just as much his older brother as Shori was. Conrad was always commenting on how much he'd grown, his guardian's happiness having increased when all the past issues had been settled. He no longer seemed plagued by bad memories and thoughts of Julia, his friendly smile now showing his genuine happiness.

The destruction of the boxes had put most everyone's minds at ease, and they'd been able to live relatively peaceful lives since then, everyone putting their pasts behind them and moving on to the future. Even Adelbert, one of the more hostile and distrustful demon Yuuri had met while acting as king, had cooled off and calmed down, becoming more accepting of his late fiancé's destiny. Yuuri was happy to call the large blond man an ally, even though he'd yet to return and take his rightful place as one of the Ten Aristocrats, choosing to remain with the band of outcasts he'd befriended instead.

Life had gone on, and Yuuri had, so far, been very pleased with it's path. He could now travel between both worlds at will, spent a few days with his parents and brother before returning to attend to his duties as king, living amongst the members of the family he had found in the Great Demon Kingdom. It was nice knowing that wherever he went he'd have someone to talk his problems out with, people who loved him and were willing to assist him in his endeavors. He loved both of his homes, cherished the time he spent in both worlds, glad that he hadn't really been expected to give one up for the other. There were too many people he cared about, too many things he loved to just leave half of it behind.

He'd continued to play baseball even while spending his time in the alternate world. He no longer went to school on Earth and so wasn't part of a team there anymore, had graduated and seen most of his teammates off to college, but he'd tried very hard to introduce his favorite pastime to the people of the Great Demon Kingdom and their allied kingdoms, working towards making it the national sport. A lot of the little children had already caught on, and he and Conrad had succeeded in creating a Little League. Yuuri was thrilled to see them all working so hard every time he went to the stadium to watch a game. It warmed his heart to see that they were enjoying something he had grown to love when he'd been just as young.

The Palace of the Original King had been rebuilt, and even though it no longer held as much importance as it once had, the yearly ceremonies continued to be conducted and celebrated there. Ulrike and the other shrine maidens still resided under it's roof, whispering prayers to their beloved first king, who lived on in memory if not in spirit. He was no longer there to give orders and control the destiny of others from the shadows, but the demon tribe still glorified him, his palace serving as a monument so that all would remember the king who cared so much that he'd protected them even in death.

Yuuri had a feeling that although the Great One was now truly gone, he would never be forgotten. In a sense he was the Arthur of this world, the once and future king, someone who would defy time and death for the sake of his people.

Murata was the only one who did not remain housed in the shrine, choosing to live amongst the others at Blood Pledge Castle instead, moving on with his current life in an attempt to put all of the memories of his past lives behind him. The Great Sage had become just as his title proclaimed, a wise councilor to the thrown, someone with immense knowledge of the land and it's people, helping Yuuri in his tasks as king. The young bespectacled man spent a lot of time around Günter and Gwendal, sometimes even remaining in the Great Demon Kingdom when Yuuri returned to Earth, his vast intellect proving to be a great help to everyone.

Being full human, Ken had continued to age just as quickly as the young king, and though he still looked and acted like the same old Murata he'd known since junior high, the other man had gained a certain refinement that Yuuri felt he would always lack, king or not. Murata had matured greatly. He'd become more serious, a side effect from being around Gwendal so much, Yuuri supposed, but his friend still knew how to have fun, and the mischievous, knowing glint he'd always been known for would still enter his dark eyes on certain occasions.

When the need arose to travel to allied countries for important meetings and Yuuri was unable to attend because of more pressing matters in the capital, he would trustfully send Murata in his place, the Sage having become as much his proxy as Gwendal had always been. The other young man took to these sorts of tasks very well, adept in soothing angered lords and worming his way back into their good favor, able to keep he tentative peace that was often tested. The humans and demons had done a good job with keeping good relations so far, but with all the things that had happened between the two races in the past, that peace could fall apart just as easily as it had been created. Hence the reason why Murata's infinite wisdom and smooth talk was so necessary.

Recently, though, things hadn't been going as wonderfully as the young king had always hoped, and the peace he'd striven for was being threatened, not only by the humans who they had yet to befriend, but also with some of their allies and members of their own race. Belar had been prevented from getting a hold of all four sacred boxes and using them for his evil purposes, but he hadn't let that failure deter him in his plans to destroy the demon tribe. He'd been building up his forces over the last few years, oppressing his people and threatening the countries he shard borders with. Big Cimaron was still very much a problem, and it was growing by the day.

Just six months ago, Smaller Cimaron had been taken over by Belar and his men, joining Big Cimaron and returning to the single country it had been long ago. Yuuri had learned through his lessons with Günter that Small Cimaron had broken off from it's larger counterpart after a civil war had erupted between it's people, those who allied themselves to the Belar family, who'd been in power for centuries, and those who wanted to overthrow them and form a new hierarchy. The smaller kingdom had fought hard to stop control from returning to Belar, but they hadn't had enough resources and man power, falling after only a few short weeks of war. Caloria, a demon friendly autonomy of Small Cimaron, inevitably went with it.

Since then, Belar had been going after other countries as well, starting with those not allied with the demon tribe in an attempt to strengthen his forces, gaining the support of Anselm, Labrentsis, Medgar and many others. Over the past month, he'd been conducting spontaneous attacks on those kingdoms that were demon friendly, threatening Francia, Cavalcade, and others should they remain allied with their enemies. Cimaron had even gone so far as to invade two villages within the lands of the Great Demon Kingdom, one in the territory of Karbelnikoff, and the other in Voltaire, both of which Anissina and Gwendal had taken personally.

Yuuri had tried to calm things down, keeping their lines of communication open in the hopes that they could eventually work something out. But Belar had never been one to talk; he hardly cared to peacefully negotiate with kings of his own race, much less the demon tribe, and they had yet to get any closer to solving this problem. The young demon king had already warned Cimaron the he would not allow them to cross into his lands and harm his people, and although Belar had backed off for the time being, the black haired monarch knew it was only a matter of time before they started in on them again. Belar had not given up before, and he wouldn't give up now.

Yuuri knew that if things continued as they were, he'd have to do something to stop the other king, that no matter how much he wanted peace, he couldn't allow his people to come to harm. He'd openly refused to go to war with the rebelling kingdoms, and though he continued to stand by that decision, there were others among them who desired otherwise. He knew Gwendal was already severely tempted to go ahead and send the troops out, even if he had to do so against the king's orders. Only Günter and Murata had been able to talk him into waiting just a little longer, wanting to give Yuuri the chance to think up another solution. A few of the other territories were also pressing for war, angry over the fact that their king was taking so long to act.

But Yuuri would try everything in his power, everything he could possibly think of to keep the peace, before sending his people off to battle. War was not an option he was willing to take; it never had been and it never would be. Fighting against one another was not a good way to solve their many differences. If anything, it would just increase the animosity and lead to the countless deaths of innocent people. Both sides would suffer greatly before they saw an end to it, just as they had in the last war, and Yuuri refused to be the one to sign the paper that would allow such a thing to take place. He could not, would not, send any man off to die for him. It was unacceptable.

However, though the demon tribe had desired peace before, wanting to forget the days of death and darkness that had filled their lives, when faced with this new and growing threat they were equally divided. Half of them sided with their king and wanted to find an alternative to war, not wanting to return to the horrible times they'd seen twenty-four years ago. The other half was willing to do anything they could to stop the humans from advancing any further, and if that meant going into battle then that's what they would have to do. The Aristocrats were up in arms about the situation, arguing amongst themselves, making Yuuri worry about the growing animosity between his own people.

It was times like this when he hated being king, when he was faced with such a difficult decision, knowing that he could end up alienating half of his kingdom by making the wrong choice. It was when these sorts of things happened that he most wanted to go back to Earth, even if he knew doing such a thing would be cowardly of him, a betrayal to his friends and people. He just didn't want to be faced with something such as this. He wasn't sure he could do the right thing, didn't even know what the 'right thing' was. Either way, people would die, whether he sent them off to do so or Belal attacked again. The results would be the same.

So, then, what was he supposed to do?

He'd been agonizing over that particular question all day, sitting in the high backed chair behind his desk in the king's study, flipping through the stacks of paperwork that always made his eyes hurt. He'd spent the last few days lost in his thoughts, attempting to think of something he could say to Belar to make the man see reason, only he hadn't come up with a single answer. It seemed hopeless to even try, and if he were any less stubborn he would have given up by now. The only thing stopping him from giving in was the thought of all those men who would surely die.

Looking up form the document he'd been scanning though for the last few minutes, after reading the same paragraph at least fifteen times, Yuuri took notice of the small group of people who'd joined him in the office, each of them with serious looks on their faces. It was pretty normal for Günter and Gwendal to be in here with him, as he still needed their assistance sometimes, often asking them for their honest opinions before signing certain papers. Murata's presence, too, was not uncommon, especially if he'd just returned from negotiations with another kingdom.

But the other black haired boy had not been away since the end of the previous week, and had already given his report of the meetings that had taken place. What's more, Conrad was also currently present, which wasn't extremely odd but usually meant Günter and Gwendal were about to suggest something he would not agree with and they wanted an extra person in there to soothe and cajole him. After all, when everyone else failed at talking some sense into him, Conrad was usually able to get through. Talking him through everything and providing reassurance was just one of the many things the brunet was good at.

"What is it?" Yuuri asked. If all three of his advisers were in here, and they'd felt the need to have Conrad come as well, then whatever they had to say was not going to be good.

He was right.

"Your Majesty," the lavender haired man began, appearing a little nervous as he spoke to his beloved king. "We think..." he trailed off for just a second, stealing a worried glance in Gwendal's direction before he was able to continue on. "We think it's time to discuss your marriage to Lord von Bielefeld."

Yuuri's heart instantly sank.

If there was one thing that he would rather not have to think about other than the possibility of going to war, it was his engagement to the blond haired noble. It had been a complete accident to begin with; what was even worse was that they'd yet to come to any sort of resolution concerning the matter. It had continuously been put off, to be discussed at a later date, and if Yuuri had had it his way he would have liked to have forgotten about the whole thing. The night of the actual engagement was not an evening he looked back on fondly, and he'd tried over the last four years to put it as far out of his mind as possible.

It wasn't as if he didn't love Wolfram. He really did, but not in the way the other boy wanted him to. Wolfram was one of his closest friends. They'd been through so much together that it was hard to imagine what his life would have been like had the beautiful blond demon not been in it. When the Great One had taken Wolfram's heart, one of the four keys, and the pale boy had seemed to have died, Yuuri's own heart had stopped cold in his chest. Wolfram had always been there for him, protected him, was there for him to talk to whenever he was troubled, and made him feel better by doing something so simple and mundane and calling him a wimp.

But despite all of that, Yuuri didn't know if he could actually marry him, didn't think his feelings ran that deep. Wolfram had always taken their engagement very seriously, while Yuuri hadn't even wanted to think about it. At first it had been because they were both men; now he realized that that wasn't really the problem. Not only had the proposal itself been a mistake, but he wasn't sure how he felt. He loved Wolfram, but he wasn't _in_ love with Wolfram... or at least he didn't think so. He was pretty sure he'd know something like that after the four years that had gone by.

"Wait, but..." he began, shaking his head slowly. "...that was a mistake. I've said so before," he gave his usual reply, not knowing what else he could say.

Why were they bringing it up now anyway?

"You refused to take it back, Your Majesty," Günter reminded him cautiously.

"I didn't know what I'd done!" he continued on with the same lame excuses. "That was before I knew any of the costumes of this world! Why should I be held accountable for it?"

"But, Shibuya, even after you found out you didn't exactly try to break it off," Murata pointed out.

Yuuri sputtered. It was difficult to explain himself without sounding cruel, or without saying things that he didn't mean. He'd never been very good at finding the right words; it only got worse when he was nervous, and he was left a stuttering, babbling fool. "W-well... that's because I... I... I didn't want to hurt his feelings or anything. I mean... he seems so serious about it and I..."

"We think it's a good idea," Gwendal broke in, not allowing him to finish. At the king's look of surprise, the dark haired Chief of State continued with his explanation. "These are serious times we are in now. Even if we do not plan on a war, the situation with the humans is tense. The marriage of our king would give our people more insurance to believe that you have every intention of ruling this country properly. It would boost morale and make you appear to be a more stable ruler."

"But..." Yuuri tried to cut him off, but Gwendal's deep voice easily drowned out the sound of his own.

"Our people have long since been aware of your engagement to Wolfram and support for your marriage is high. They will see it as a sign that you are fully prepared to take on all of the responsibilities as king. Also, should the need arise for you to be elsewhere, be it another kingdom or Earth, Wolfram would be here to take care of matters in your absence. He is more than capable of ruling by your side," the eldest of the three brothers went on. "He knows the land and he knows the people."

"Then, of course, there is the fact the he is one of the previous Queen's sons," Günter added, his voice as soothing as always, bu there was a certain edge to it that he only got when they were faced with such a dire situation. "He is well aware of the responsibilities and will be able to deal with them. The people are also very reassured by the fact that he is young; it means he will be around for quite a while and be able to rule in your place when..."

He didn't finish, nor did he really have to. Yuuri knew what he'd been about to say anyway; it was obvious with the way his speech had tapered off so abruptly. The black haired king was actually kind of glad that he'd aged over the last four years; he thought his stronger, older appearance demanded more respect than what he'd received as a young, bumbling teenager, but his demon companions had been rather disheartened. If he kept aging as he was now, he would die long before any of them and would not live as long as most of their past kings had.

It was imperative, then, that he marry someone young, and preferably someone who was full demon, to take over when he was no longer able to rule. When he thought about it and looked passed the issues he had with the idea of marrying his blond friend, he knew that Wolfram was really the perfect candidate. He was hardly an adult by demon tribe standards, he'd been trained in the military for most of his life, was well versed in politics and could be depended upon to make important decisions. He couldn't think of anyone more suited to rule by his side, and the fact that Wolfram was actually willing to go through with marrying him would only make things easier.

"But..." Yuuri tried to speak, fidgeting with the quill he'd been signing his name with, picking at the feather worriedly. "It would just be a marriage for appearances sake," he voiced his thoughts out loud. "It just doesn't seem right. Isn't... isn't that a little unfair to Wolfram. I mean, to expect so much out of him. Have you even asked him what he thinks about the idea?"

Murata looked at him, black eyes staring directly into black. "Do you doubt him?" he asked. He wasn't as forceful as Gwendal, nor as convincing as Günter was trying to be, but Yuuri could tell that his friend from Earth agreed with everything the two older men had said so far.

"No!" Yuuri denied, shaking his head emphatically. "I... I just... I just don't think it's fair to expect him to go along with it! You're not taking his feelings into account!"

"We don't have the time!" Gwendal bellowed, causing the young king to jump in his chair, onyx eyes looking up at him, surprised by his sudden outburst. "Wolfram may be spoiled but he knows what would be in the best interests of the Great Demon Kingdom and its people! Even if he did not have feelings for you he would still agree to this marriage for the sake of the kingdom!"

The dark haired boy remained quiet as all occupants of the room fell silent. He could tell that no matter what kind of excuses he came up with, his mentors weren't going to be swayed in their decision. They'd obviously given this a lot of thought, spent time going over the current situation and putting the interest of their country before the personal feelings of their king. Yuuri had to wonder if they'd been planning on bringing this up for a while now, since it appeared as if they had an answer or a comeback for everything he said. They'd known what his reaction would be ahead of time and had prepared themselves for it accordingly.

"What's going on?" he finally asked, glancing around the room at each of them, looking first to the Great Sage, before shifting his gaze to Conrad, then Gwendal and Günter. "I understand what you're saying, but... why are you bringing this up now? We've been engaged for four years. Why is it suddenly so important that we get married now?"

He was glad they hadn't thought to bring Wolfram in with them. He didn't know what he would have done if they'd had to have this conversation with the other boy present. He didn't like the idea of a forced marriage, but he liked hurting his friend even less. Wolfram may have been able to hide his feelings pretty well had he been in here, but Yuuri knew his continued attempts to try and get out of the wedding would have hurt him more than he would have been willing to admit. He didn't want to do that to him, not to someone he cared about so much.

"We've never been this close to a war before, Your Majesty," Günter explained, as if he'd forgotten about the time with Stoffel soon after Yuuri had become king, when the former Queen's older brother had abducted him and tried to use him for his own nefarious purposes.

"We're not going to war," Yuuri made sure to remind him, his dark eyes narrowing. He hated it when someone so much as suggested it. "I'm not going to send our people off to-"

"Francia has fallen, Your Majesty," Conrad cut in, the first words he'd said since the start of this conversation, and they couldn't have been any more discouraging.

Yuuri's mouth fell open. "What?" the demon king asked, disbelieving. "What do you mean? When did this happen?"

The last he'd heard, Antoine and his men had still been in fair condition, and Belar's troops were scattered on so many fronts that the small army approaching their border hadn't seemed like much of a threat at all, definitely not something they would have been unable to deal with, even a little country like Francia.

"We received word not even an hour ago. It seems Belar's troops launched a surprise attack. There were more Cimaronian solders hiding within the forests than they had anticipated. Francia's forces were crushed. They didn't stand a chance."

"What happened to Antoine and Laila? Are they okay?"

"They were able to escape," Murata reported. "They're making their way to Cavalcade for now. We've already sent out a group of our own men to assist them. We figured you'd want to make sure they got there safely."

"Yes, of course," the black haired king agreed, too shocked by this sudden turn of events to be able to think clearly.

"We also received a message from Yozak early this morning," Conrad was speaking again. "Belar is plotting an attack on Cavalcade sometime within the next few weeks. It also seems as if he plans on invading the Great Demon Kingdom before the end of the year."

"Now do you understand what kind of situation we've found ourselves in?" Gwendal wondered harshly, sharp blue eyes glaring at him. "No matter how much you wish to refrain from going to war, if they attack we _must _defend our people. This wedding is necessary, Your Majesty. If something were to happen to you, we would need someone worthy enough to take over. With His Majesty the Great One no longer here to choose the next king, it would be wise for us to make sure that we have someone in place to take the throne after you. Wolfram would be your spouse as well as your heir."

Yuuri didn't say anything for a long time, simply lifted his hands to cover his face with his elbows resting against the surface of the desk, trying to clear his mind enough to come up with something to say. It was all too much; to hear that Francia had fallen to Cimaron and that his friends were now in danger of being captured and held prisoner was bad enough. To have this marriage suddenly forced on him at a time like this was even worse. He didn't know what to think, what to do, and it was difficult to separate what was for the good of the people from his personal feelings.

He knew that this wasn't something he could rush in to, that no matter how important his advisers deemed this wedding to be, it wasn't a decision that he could make on his own. He also knew that, as king, he could simply refuse and move on to other business, place all of his focus and attention on making sure that his friends were safe, and try to forget that this idea had even been brought up. But they were right about the fact that he would need someone, a queen, a prince or princess, _someone_ in place should ill will befall him. He knew that an attempt at his life was not at all improbable at this point in time. In fact, it had never been.

The easiest solution would be to go ahead and schedule a wedding between himself and Wolfram. They were already engaged, so it wouldn't look as if it had suddenly been thrown together for the sake of the future of the country, even if, in truth, it really was. And everything his four companions had said concerning the other boy was entirely true; Wolfram was fit for the position, he knew Wolfram would do a good job. But...

He couldn't stop the voice in his head, the one that was screaming out about how unfair this was, not just to him, but to his devoted fiancé. It shouldn't be this way. They should _want_ to marry one another, not be forced into it.

'_Wolfram _does_ want to marry me, though,'_ another part of his mind pointed out. _'So is it really so bad? He'll get what he wants, and we'll be protecting the kingdom at the same time. The only one who'll have a problem is me,'_ he thought it out, still hiding behind his hands.

'_But I'm the king. I should be prepared to make some sacrifices, shouldn't I? I have to ignore my own feelings and think of the people. That's what it means to be a good king, right?'_

However, there was one person's feelings he couldn't ignore, one person he had to put before the people in making his choice, or he'd end up feeling guilty about it for the rest of his life.

"I don't want to do anything until I know what Wolfram thinks about it," he finally said, voice slightly muffled by his palms.

"Then you agree," Gwendal said this more as a statement than a question.

"Not to all of it," he replied honestly, slowly lowering his hands, though his dark eyes remained down, glancing at the desk top and refusing to look at any of them. "I agree that it would be in the best interests of the people, but I'm not making the final decision. It's not mine to make."

"Then we'll discuss this matter with Lord von Bielefeld immediately," Günter spoke, his voice still even and smooth, trying to remain calm and collected under so much pressure.

Yuuri just sighed deeply.

He didn't like this at all.

**TBC...**


	2. Accepter

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

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**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Two - Accepter - To Accept  
**

'Immediately' ended up being an hour later, after the king's guardian and three advisers took the time to decide who would be the one to broach the subject with the moody young noble. Gwendal opted out of it, stating that he had no business in the affairs of love, and it was quite obvious by the way he said this that he was uncomfortable with the idea of talking to his youngest brother about such things. Günter also felt that he would not be the most useful, as Wolfram had never taken too kindly to him and would be unwilling to speak with the lavender haired man on the topic of the engagement.

Murata agreed to do it but the others stopped him before he could exit the study, claiming he and Wolfram were not nearly close enough to converse on such a serious personal issue. The Sage then suggested that they ask Lady Celi to do it, but Gwendal hesitated and decided that his mother probably wasn't the one they'd want breaking the news. Having Yuuri do it was also out of the question, as the king was terrified of what his fiancé's reaction would be, not even wanting to look at the boy until all this had been settled.

In the end it was Conrart who was appointed this particular task. The brown haired soldier wasn't exactly troubled by this; as long as he remained straight foreword and didn't "beat around the bush," so to speak, he figured the conversation would go as smoothly as it possibly could where Wolfram was concerned. The only problem was getting his younger brother to actually listen. They'd come a long way from where they'd been before Yuuri had arrived in this world, when Conrart would try to get close to the younger boy and Wolfram would stubbornly push him away, but there were still walls between them, ones that prevented them from returning to how they'd been as children.

His blond sibling hadn't always been so headstrong and impetuous, hadn't always seemed so snobbish and self-centered. He'd been a sweet child, innocent and playful, always smiling and laughing, knowing nothing but happiness. Even then, before the war, the times they'd lived in had been hard and people had feared that things would further escalate with their enemies, that they'd soon know death and destruction. Wolfram had made it possible to forget all that, at least for a little while, as everyone focused their attention on him.

When she hadn't been busy with her duties as the demon queen, their mother would dress him up and take him to parties where he'd become the center of attention at almost every gathering; no one had been able to resist that small smile and babyish voice. Gwendal - who now refused to admit that he'd had anything to do with their sibling being overindulged - had spent his free time knitting all sorts of animals for him to cuddle and play with; in fact, the blanket Wolfram had been wrapped in seconds after his birth had been made by the older man.

His younger brother had always held a very special place in Conrart's heart, from the very first moment he'd laid eyes on him until now, despite everything that had happened over the years. The brunet had been with his mother when she'd given birth, and had been the first person, besides Celi and the nursemaid that is, to hold the tiny, wailing baby. After that, he'd made it his responsibility to look out for the little boy, had played with him, read him stories, calmed him down after a bad dream, taught him to read, write, and use a sword. There had been Celi and Gwendal, and the nanny who'd watched out for him when the Queen was busy, but Conrart had really been the one to raise him.

The maids had adored him, baked him special treats every day, cookies and cakes for him to eat in the afternoons once he'd finished his studies. The guards and soldiers, usually so stiff and formal, had lightened up around him, enjoying his youthful chatter and boyish giggles, protecting him from anything that seemed harmful. Guests would fawn over him, gushing and praising Celi for having such a beautiful child. Wolfram had been pampered and coddled, placed high up on a golden pedestal, the epitome of a perfect, well mannered child, with a winning smile and a face that screamed "spoil me."

So then they'd all been affected, really, when his little brother had changed. Conrart could easily remember the exact moment, for it hadn't been a gradual transformation at all, but so sudden that he was able to replay the entire, short process in his mind, as clearly and as vividly as if it had happened only an hour ago, when more than fifty years had gone by since then.

It had been night. Gwendal had gone with Dunheely, Conrart's father, to the nameless village, and Celi, Wolfram, and Conrart had patiently waited for their return. Their mother had been out on one of the balconies, leaning against the balustrade with a look of melancholy on her face. Conrart had been leaning back against the open door frame, arms crossed over his chest, Wolfram only a short distance away, so young and trusting. It had almost been time for the little one to go to bed, when Conrart would take him by the hand and lead him down the hall, help him change into his nightclothes and tuck him in like he did every night when he wasn't away with his father.

Mother had started talking about the demon tribe and humans, mumbling more to herself than to her two youngest sons. Wolfram had asked why Conrart's father was so old, when it suddenly slipped out that Dunheely Weller was a member of the other race. Already wide green eyes and widened even more, staring at the brunet in disbelief, and a small, frightened voice had asked him if it was true. Conrart had admitted that, yes, his father was a human, he had been created by a demon and one of their enemies, he was a halfling, a hybrid.

He didn't really know why he'd never told his brother before; perhaps a part of him had assumed that the blond had always known, that his mixed heritage was common knowledge.

"_No."_

Wolfram had looked ready to cry, his little hands shaking as his face went completely white. He'd looked petrified, and Conrart, not thinking the boy would take the news so badly, had taken a step towards him to offer comfort, only to watch as Wolfram immediately took a step back, bottom lip trembling. When Conrart tried to draw closer again, his little brother had screamed loud enough to have the guards come running.

"_No! Leave me alone! Go away!"_

The Queen's second son had made another attempt at soothing him, but Wolfram took off running, pushing passed anyone who tried to get in his way and dashing down the hall.

Conrart and the guards had followed him, Cecilie close behind, all of them calling out for Wolfram to stop, but the child kept on screaming at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face. One of the guards, a young Dakaskos, caught up with him and grabbed hold of him, and Wolfram had lashed out, kicking with his little feet and pounding his tiny fists against the man's armor. When Conrart called out to him again his screaming just got louder, attracting the attention of nearly everyone in the castle, who bounded down the hall to see what all the commotion was about, worried looks etching across their faces as they saw the state that Wolfram was in.

"_Leave me alone! I hate you! You're not my brother! You're not! You're not! You're not!"_

His brother hadn't calmed down until Celi came and scooped him up into her arms, holding him close and cuddling him against her bosom, and even then Wolfram had cried for hours. Every time green eyes moved to peer at him, Conrart had seen the fear, anger, and betrayal within their depths. His baby brother's little heart had shattered, his perfect, peaceful world crumbling down around him, and everything he'd thought he'd known ended up being a lie, a farce.

Up until the time of the war, that had been the worst night of Conrart's life, because he'd lost his little brother, and it had been all his fault.

After that, Wolfram changed. He was no longer the sweet, innocent cherub he'd once been; he probably lost most of his innocence that night, along with his ability to trust. He started throwing vicious tantrums whenever he was denied what he wanted, throwing things around whatever room he was in, destroying a great many priceless vases and glass figurines, once even going so far as to rip the curtains off the wall and smash a window. He'd been virtually uncontrollable those fist few months after he'd found out, to the point where Gwendal had had to stand by his door and keep him locked in his room until he calmed down.

He became spiteful and troublesome, arrogant and easily angered. The maids became afraid to bother him, as they were more likely to get yelled at than have a young child happily thanking them for their milk and cookies. Conrart hadn't been able to go near him, much lees touch him, without Wolfram screaming or shouting at him, spitting out hateful words that made the brown haired young man flinch away. His brother stopped running to hug him when he returned from his travels, avoided him at all cost, years passing by without gentle smiles and innocent laughter, years without warm embraces and loving words.

And then Yuuri came, full of wide grins and contagious laughter, lifting everyone's spirits with his compassion and purity, healing them all with his happiness and ideals, his morals and sense of justice. Slowly, ever so slowly, Wolfram began to cool down, and before long the light of trust had returned to his emerald eyes. He was still haughty and sometimes cruel, demanding and selfish, but there was an innocence there that Conrart had not seen in him in a long time. Wolfram allowed himself to hope again, to depend on someone other than himself, and sometimes when he thought no one was looking, Wolfram would smile one of those small, sweet smiles from early childhood, the ones Conrart treasured above all else.

The blond had stopped calling him by his last name, but he still refused to refer to him as 'little big brother,' like he had when they'd been children. Wolfram had started to trust in him again, had even seemed to get over the fact that he was half human, but the walls that separated them remained, maybe not as thick as they'd once been, but they were still there, still prevented them from returning to how they'd been long ago. They hadn't really resolved much of anything, avoided the subject more often than not, as if afraid of reopening old wounds that were finally beginning to close.

Presently his youngest brother was in the courtyard with Greta and little Eru, playing an Earthen game of hopscotch, one Yuuri had taught their daughter to play a few years back. Greta had grown up since then, turning from a small child into a beautiful young lady. At fourteen she was already getting her fair share of admirers, which Conrart knew worried Yuuri a bit, but it was only natural for the young men to flock towards someone as pretty as she had become.

Once short curly brown hair now fell a few inches passed her shoulders, often decorated by various silk ribbons or sparking barrettes made of precious gemstones. She'd sprouted up more than a few inches, almost as tall as her blond father when she wore high heels, and her figure was beginning to fill out, the soft, feminine curves hidden under glamorous dresses fit for any princess. She'd always been somewhat of a strong willed girl to begin with, but her times spent with Anissina had sharpened that trait, making her very independent and self-sufficient.

She was currently trying to explain the game to Eru, Nicola standing close by, watching in amusement, and Hube no where to be seen, having probably gone inside to speak with his cousin. Eru had also aged, though it was difficult to tell if his demon or human blood would eventually take over, or if it would fluctuate throughout his life. He was big for a demon child of four, but small for a human child of the same age, a tiny toddler who was just beginning to master the use of some larger words. He had an uncanny resemblance to his human mother, with the same brown hair and eyes, hardly taking after his tall, dark father at all.

When Eru seemed to find the Earth game of squares, numbers, and a stone too hard to understand, and Greta was having a difficult time explaining it, Wolfram stepped up to teach him by example, and Conrart's hazel eyes turned to watch him fondly, stopping in his trek towards him for a moment so as not to disrupt the heartwarming scene.

His little brother hadn't changed much at all since the day Yuuri had arrived. He'd grown out his golden blond hair an inch or two, not as long as their king's currently was, but longer than he usually wore it, as if hoping it would make him appear a little older, like it did for his black haired fiancé. Unfortunately, the loose curls - accompanied by his wide green eyes and soft facial features - made him look deceptively younger, and it was obvious that not only had he inherited their mother's breathtaking beauty, but her youthfulness as well. It seemed as if he would always remain of a slight build and small stature.

He was wearing one of his less ostentatious outfits instead of his blue uniform, clothing much more suitable for outdoor play, and the fact that he didn't have his sword with him, which always seemed to be at his side, was enough proof of how at ease he was with the surroundings and the people that were present. The blond had always been very fond of Greta, though he'd refused to admit that he cared about the human girl when she'd first come along, only to spend his time taking care of her when Yuuri was away. He also had a very soft spot for Eru, and with most young ones for that matter. For someone so impatient and demanding, he was actually very good with children.

He was clothed in a loose, white tunic, a ruffle at the end of each long sleeve. Conrart had never been a big fan of frills and ruffles himself, preferring his simple, khaki colored uniform over something more elaborate, but they were flattering on the blond, adding to the deceiving picture of innocence and vulnerability. The shirt was tucked in to his dark blue pants, white stockings and black shoes covering his calves and feet. It was akin to the outfits he typically wore under his smock, causing Conrart to wonder if his little brother had been painting before joining the younger children in their game.

He watched for a moment as Wolfram demonstrated how to toss the small stone and jump to the correct block, before the brown haired soldier let out a sigh and continued his approach, figuring the sooner he got this over with, the better. He was in agreement with his older brother, Günter, and His Highness about this wedding being necessary, but that didn't mean he enjoyed watching as both the blond and His Majesty were forced into something they may not be completely comfortable with. The two of them were still too young to have to worry about such things.

"Wolfram!" he called to the fair noble as he drew ever closer, causing him to turn around and face him, his cheeks flushed in a mixture of exertion and embarrassment.

"What do you want?" the blond demanded, seeming annoyed at having been disrupted.

"There's something important I'd like to discuss with you," he replied evenly, giving his brother one of his ever present friendly smiles. "Why don't we go somewhere more private?"

The boy frowned, green eyes narrowing. "Just tell me what it is and go away."

Fine, if he wanted to be difficult... "It's about your engagement to His Majesty."

That had the young demon flinching, his hands balling into fists by his sides, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he cringed. He seemed to know that what the brunet had to say about it wasn't what he wanted to hear. Of course, more often than not, whenever the subject of the engagement was brought up, regardless of who was speaking about it, it wasn't what Wolfram wanted to hear. There weren't many people besides him to took the whole thing seriously. Even Greta had once commented on her dark haired father marrying a woman instead.

"I'll be right back," his little brother mumbled to Greta and Eru, then began stalking away, not giving them even a seconds worth of time to reply. He walked towards the lower terrace that looked over the courtyard, far enough away from the children so that they wouldn't be able to hear them conversing, leaning against the stone railing with his arms crossed over his chest defensively, like they could protect him from anything his older brother had to say.

Conrart followed, taking those few moments to decide what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it, feeling some pity for the pale skinned young man. He had a feeling this may be a little more difficult than he'd first thought.

"Now," Wolfram started again, green eyes peering at him in slight curiosity, though the soldier could pick out the weariness within them. "What about it?" he asked, like it wasn't exactly up for discussion.

"Do you truly intend to marry him?" he slowly began, keeping his voice calm.

A soft snort was the reply. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here. Besides, that decision isn't mine to make, is it? Nothing I say or do will have any affect on the matter."

"Actually, it will."

One thin, golden eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"

"We've just finished discussing the issue with His Majesty. Gwendal, Günter, His Eminence and I think it's a good idea."

"Günter does?" Another snort, this one made in disbelief. "That's surprising," he observed, turning to watch Greta, Eru, and Nicola, who'd taken his place in helping them. "So, what did the wimp say? That it was an accident? That he has no intention of going through with it?" He tried to sound disinterested, but Conrart knew Wolfram genuinely wished to know.

"He agreed," the elder of the two said in return, his words causing the blond to tense up again, emerald eyes widening, his mouth falling open as he looked back up at the taller man, surprised. "With things as they are now, it would be a good idea for the king to marry, and since the two of you are already engaged..." He hated to disappoint him, but he couldn't allow him to get the wrong idea.

"Oh," Wolfram glanced down, hands gripping tightly to his upper arms, which were still crossed. His shock instantly gave way to anger, and perhaps a little bit of sadness as well. "A marriage of convenience… for the sake of the kingdom..."

"His Majesty doesn't want to do anything until he knows how you feel about the idea. He doesn't want you to think you're being forced into it."

"In other words, he's too much of a wimp to tell me 'no,' so he's giving me the opportunity to back out of it! How very noble of him!" His sarcasm was evident.

"He's taking your feelings into account," Conrart tried to soothe him, but he knew there really wasn't anything he could do to alleviate the pain his younger brother was surely going through.

"_My_ feelings!" the youth was glaring at him, as if accusing him for all of this, like it was somehow his fault. "He knows damn well how I feel!"

"He cares about you."

"That's a load of shit."

"You're saying it's not true?"

"I'm saying that... it's different... from what I feel for him." Wolfram deflated somewhat at that point, frowning, a sad, hopeless frown that had Conrart feeling even sorrier for him. "If things weren't as tense as they are now with the humans, you know he wouldn't even be considering this. If it weren't such a good political move, he wouldn't want to hear about it at all. He'd go on ignoring the engagement and act like it had never happened."

"So you're in agreement that this would be for the good of the country?" the brown haired half human wondered, a little surprised that the boy hadn't begun ranting and raving like he was known to do when something displeased him. "Are you willing to do this, Wolfram?" he asked, needing a direct answer. "His Majesty has made it very clear that the final decision is to be left up to you. If you should agree, preparations for the wedding will begin immediately."

"Will I be made king, too?" the blond questioned, finally uncrossing his arms, pale hands moving to grip onto the terrace railing. Conrart noticed that they were shaking slightly, though he couldn't tell if it was from nervousness or suppressed anger. "Unless a man can be named Queen, or would they come up with some special title for me?"

"You'd be crowned Prince again," Conrart replied, looking at his brother closely, watching his every reaction. They'd all been princes before, when their mother had been Queen, but once she'd officially stepped down they had lost the title. With the Great One choosing the king, none of them had been in line for the thrown anyway, so it hadn't really made much of a difference. Now the title would hold more meaning, as Wolfram would be the equivalent to a Queen, with all the same powers and responsibilities as Yuuri held. "You'd also be heir to the thrown."

"Of course," his brother mumbled softly. "The king is half human and the princess is full human. I'll outlive the both of them."

"A lot of responsibilities will be placed on your shoulders should you choose to go through with this," the brunet calmly warned him.

"I know that."

"His Majesty doesn't want to force you into anything if you feel you can't handle it," he repeated. "He respects your feelings."

"Too bad he doesn't understand them."

This time Conrart smiled softly. "Sometimes I think you give him too little credit. He's well aware of how you feel about him. I think you make that knowledge fairly obvious." He almost chuckled, but stopped when Wolfram glared at him. "And, as someone he confides in, I can tell you that he _does_ care for you quite a bit. Maybe it's not the same as how you feel, but you _are_ very special to him."

"Everyone is special to him. He doesn't hate anyone. I'm sure he'd even befriend Belar if he was given the chance."

"There's nothing wrong with being compassionate and understanding. The world would certainly be a better place if there were more people like His Majesty."

"He treats everyone the same. Good or bad... it doesn't matter. I'm just another person to him."

"You're like a brother to him," Conrart corrected, then winced, knowing it was the wrong choice of words.

"I don't _want_ to be his _brother_!" the blond snapped, and the older man could clearly hear the hurt in his voice. "I... I want to be his..."

He didn't complete his sentence; he didn't have to. Conrart already knew, had known for a long time, what it was that Wolfram wanted out of their dark haired king. He wanted a relationship, wanted more than friendly smiles and the occasional pat on the back. He wanted something deeper, something more involved, the romance that His Majesty was so deathly afraid of. He wanted the candle-lit dinners and the hand-holding, the love and security that came with being together as more than comrades, more than just king and loyal knight. Wolfram wanted to be his fiancé, his lover, his spouse, the one who was there for him as more than an adviser or protector.

Conrart pitied the younger man, knew almost how he was feeling at the moment. He couldn't say he'd been in love with Susannah Julia, not like his brother was with His Majesty, though he'd been closer to her than any other woman besides his mother. To him she'd been like an angel, pure and lovely, someone to worship, protect, fight and care for, but someone he could never have, never touch, and not because she'd been engaged to Adalbert. She'd been his friend, his sister, his star of hope, the shining symbol of his dream for both races to live together as one. He hadn't been in love with her, but with the type of woman she'd been.

And never, ever had he been given what he wanted, someone like her that he could truly love. Of course, there had been others in his past, people he'd had more than a platonic relationship with, but it never felt complete, there had always been something missing, some piece of the puzzle that he couldn't find. But whereas he had yet to discover that certain someone, Wolfram already had, only his feelings weren't being returned. In a sense, Yuuri was the "Julia" in Wolfram's life (which was ironic, considering the king possessed the woman's soul). It often times made Conrart wonder if his brother's feelings would ever be returned, or if Wolfram would one day end up like him.

That was a sad thought.

"Wolfram..." he called quietly to the blond boy, tempted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but knowing he'd only be pushed away. "I need an answer," he said instead, not wanting to push him, but the others were waiting, and this had to be settled tonight.

"Fine," Wolfram was still mumbling, and he let out a sad, pitiful sounding sigh. "Tell the wimp I agree."

"Are you sure?" he asked one more time, and he momentarily wondered why he was giving him the chance to back out of it.

"Do you think I'd say 'yes' if I wasn't? I'm not stupid. I know what I'm doing."

"Then I'll inform the others."

Conrart didn't turn to leave right away. Before he could stop himself or think better of the idea, his hand had risen to gently stroke Wolfram's golden hair, brushing a stray lock behind one of his ears, earning a glare in return for his efforts. He smiled sadly and lowered the hand to squeeze one of the boy's shoulders in reassurance, a little surprised when it wasn't swatted away, then turned to walk back inside, intent on returning to the study to relay the decision to His Majesty.

Wolfram watched him go, frowning, and when his second brother was out of sight he allowed his body to slide down to the floor of the stone porch, leaning back against the balustrade and bringing his legs up to his chest, circling his arms around them as he rested his forehead against his knees, hiding his face from anyone who may happen to pass him by.

His heart hurt and his eyes stung, but he stubbornly refused to cry. He'd already cried over Yuuri once before. If he allowed himself to do it again, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to stop.

**TBC…**


	3. Crier

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

By Mikage

**Chapter Three - Crier - To Cry Out  
**

That very night, it was announced at dinner that His Majesty King Yuuri and His Excellency Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld would be wed in one month's time. Invitations would be sent out the very next morning, and Lady Celi had already begun the preparations.

There would be two ceremonies, Yuuri had been told by the previous queen, one that would take place in two weeks where the Aristocrats would give their blessings and approve of the union (in the past, the Great One would have also been asked for his approval, but with him gone that was no longer necessary). The second would be the actual wedding, where he would crown Wolfram prince and the blond would accept his duties and pledge himself to the people - a coronation ceremony of sorts.

Then they would officially be married. Wolfram would no longer be his fiancé, but his husband.

In all the years he'd been alive, Yuuri never thought he'd ever have a _husband_. Even after the engagement had been solidified, he'd honestly never thought that it would last, thought he'd still one day marry a pretty girl who'd serve as his queen and they'd have a couple of children so that there would be an heir. He hadn't realized that his heir didn't have to be his own child, that his spouse could serve that purpose as well. He was more than certain that his blond friend would outlive him (unless something truly awful were to happen to the other boy, but Yuuri didn't want to think about that). When he himself was in his eighties, Wolfram probably wouldn't look any older than Conrad did now.

When Yuuri died, Wolfram would become the next king, the boy who'd first been so affronted by Yuuri taking that position, who'd claimed that his big brother Gwendal would be the better pick, was one day going to take over and lead the country. Greta may end up serving as queen for a time, but even she would pass on before Wolfram became a middle-aged man.

It sounded depressing, especially if he put himself in his fiancé's shoes, and he was again struck by how unfair all of this was. He actually began to curse his human blood for causing him to age as he was. If he'd aged like a demon, would any of this have happened? Would this wedding be as important?

He hadn't seen Wolfram since breakfast that morning, hours before his advisers had voiced the idea in his study. They'd bickered some like always, had asked their daughter about her plans for the day, and had then gone their separate ways, Yuuri to his mountains of paperwork and Wolfram and Greta to wherever they went when the king was busy. Things had been so normal this morning, so predictable and routine, and then he'd been thrown this curveball, in danger of striking out and ruining everything for himself and one of his good friends.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Wolfram was upset. The blond hadn't been at dinner, and when Yuuri had nervously asked why, he'd been told by Sangria that Lord von Bielefeld was not hungry and had even refused to have his meal brought to their room. It wasn't rare for Wolfram to be absent from the table; sometimes he'd be tired in the mornings and skip breakfast, be out on patrol during lunch, or be under the weather and not come to dinner. But Yuuri knew that his friend hadn't come this evening because he didn't want to see him, most likely hiding out in their bedroom, waiting to speak with the king about the situation when no one else was around.

Yuuri was heading that way now, hoping the confrontation wouldn't be that bad, though he had a feeling it would entail a lot of shouting on his fiancé's part. With Wolfram, he had to pick and choose his words carefully, which Yuuri had never been very good at, especially if he was under a lot of stress. Somehow he always managed to stick his foot in his mouth, or he'd let his frustrations get the better of him and they'd end up in a huge argument, screaming at each other until Wolfram ended up stomping away and locking himself in one of the palace's many rooms and refusing to come out until 1) Yuuri apologized, or 2) he cooled off on his own.

He'd gotten used to Wolfram's brattiness long ago, and even though he was left with his hands full more often than not, the blond demon's attitude had grown on him, and he wouldn't want the boy any other way. He knew it was all a cover anyway, that his friend used it to try and hide what he was really feeling, though those emotions would show through in his eyes and facial expressions despite his best attempts. He didn't like showing his true self around other people, but when it was just the two of them, alone, without the bickering and the arguing, Wolfram could be different, nicer, understanding, and strangely sweet.

Yuuri sighed to himself as he stopped in front of the door to his bedroom, his palms sweating in nervousness as he reached out to turn the knob and push the door open, knowing there was no turning back now. He didn't really know what Wolfram's reaction would be, but he prepared himself for the worst, quietly stepping in and shutting the door behind him. He had a very strong urge to run away and hide for the next four weeks, to find the closest body of water and head back to Earth for a while, but he forced himself to stay where he was, screwing up as much courage as he possibly could as he leaned back against the wooden door, black eyes peering around the room.

Now that it was night time a few candles had been lit to provide illumination, burning on a couple of the room's flat surfaces -the bedside tables, the desk, the little table in the corner where he could take his meals if he didn't feel like sitting in the dinning room. Moonlight streamed in through the tall, floor to ceiling windows, the stars twinkling in an inky black sky. On any other evening it would have all provided for a tranquil, serene atmosphere, quiet and contenting, but Yuuri could feel the tension in the air tonight, closing in on him, making a nervous tingle shoot down his spine.

Wolfram was all the way on the other side of the large room, sitting in a wooden chair in front of a hanging mirror that was trimmed in gold, running a brush through his wavy blond hair. He was already dressed for bed, pink nightgown hanging off of his pale, narrow shoulders, in danger of slipping and sliding down his arms. Yuuri had once thought the other boy's choice of sleepwear was absolutely ridiculous, but it was just another of his quirks that he'd gotten used to in the four years that they'd known each other, so that it no longer seemed odd when the blond wore pink frills and silky bows.

He couldn't deny the fact that Wolfram was beautiful; in fact, he didn't even have much trouble admitting that he thought so, since it was glaringly obvious. What's more, Wolfram seemed to know exactly what to do, how to stand, how to walk and, most importantly, what to wear in order to enhance his striking good looks (something the king was sure he'd learned from Lady Celi). He looked dazzling in blues of any tint or shade, whether it was navy, cerulean, or pale, ice blue. Cools colors really brought out the green of his eyes and were a contrast to his fiery personality. Pinks, like his nightgown, just softened his appearance even more, made him look younger, more vulnerable.

But Yuuri knew that the other boy could very easily kill him if he wanted to, and do so without giving him the opportunity to scream.

"Uh, hi..." he greeted the blond uneasily, still leaning up against the door, feeling a bit safer with some distance between them. Wolfram hadn't turned to acknowledge him yet, but he was sure the boy knew he was there; he could see green eyes narrowing through the reflection in the mirror. "You weren't at dinner, so I was worried that..."

"I wasn't hungry," Wolfram's voice reached his ears, emotionless, uncaring, so cold that it almost made the king shiver.

Bravely Yuuri continued to look in his fiancé's direction, clearing his throat before speaking again. "Are you... angry?" he wondered cautiously.

Wolfram lowered the brush he was using, placing it on the vanity below the mirror, and though he seemed to be finished he remained in the chair, back facing the darker young man. "Why would I be?" he asked, lifting a hand to adjust one of his full, pink sleeves.

"Well, because-"

"I should feel lucky, shouldn't I?" the blond cut him off, his voice still low and empty sounding, like he'd given up trying to fight with him, like nothing mattered any more. "To finally be getting married to the man I've been pining over for years, it's a dream come true, isn't it? Maybe if I focus on how fortunate I am, I can forget that I'm being used not only by my older brothers, but by my _fiancé_ as well."

"Wolf, I'm not-"

"Maybe if I concentrate on how happy I should be that you're taking our engagement seriously for once, I can forget that it's purely for politics. I'm one of the luckiest people in the world, aren't I? I mean, how many people manage to get close to the King, much less marry him?"

"Stop," Yuuri almost pleaded. He couldn't bear to hear the other boy sound so sad and lost, especially knowing that it was partly his fault. "Wolfram, please, just listen to me."

Slowly the blond stood to his feet, moving away from the chair to turn around and face the king. The look on his face was so different from what Yuuri had expected that it made him press himself back into the door even further. He didn't seem angry on the verge of throwing a fit, nor did he seem about to scream and shout in rage. He looked crushed, hurt beyond words, a sad little frown pulling his lips down, emerald eyes staring at Yuuri, looking pained, like it was taking everything he had not to just break down and cry.

If the other boy wasn't so stubborn and full of pride, Yuuri imagined he would have already been crying.

"Do you even care how much I love you?" Wolfram asked him, his voice wavering only slightly, threatening to crack, as if his emotions were beginning to escape his careful control. "Do you know how it felt to have Conrart come to me and tell me that you'd finally agreed to marry me because it's convenient to you? Is this what I have to do to prove my feelings? After everything that I've already done? After everything I've been through?"

"Can I at least say something?" Yuuri tried again, though he knew there wasn't much he could say to make this confrontation any easier.

"I don't want to hear _anything_ that you have to say! It's always the same thing over and over again! 'I proposed to you by mistake. Can I take it back?'" His pretty face twisted in pain, pale, slender hands clenched by his sides, nearly shaking. "I never let you take it back and now I think I should have! Having you announce that it was an accident to the entire kingdom couldn't possibly hurt as much as this!"

Yuuri frowned. It was rare that Wolfram actually admitted to his emotional pain, or any pain for that matter.

"I'm not forcing you to go through with this," the young king told him. "If you really don't want to, then we won't do it. Things can stay as they are now. Nothing has to change."

"I don't _want_ things to stay like they are now!" his fiancé had finally been reduced to shouting, taking a few steps towards him. "I don't want to have to follow you around anymore, thinking that I actually stand a chance! I'm tired of chasing after something I know I'll never get!"

"Then why did you start in the first place?" Yuuri stopped him before he could go any further, asking the first question that came to mind, angry at himself and frustrated that all of this was happening.

Why did life have to be so difficult?

"I never made you follow me," he continued, lifting his gaze to meet Wolfram's eyes, the blond having stopped his approach in the middle of the room, staring at him as if he couldn't believe he'd say something so… stupid? Inconsiderate? "You did that on your own, because you have _stupid_ jealousy issues, accusing me of cheating on you with every living thing which, by the way, I never did!"

"Of course you didn't, because we were never really together in the first place! This was all a joke to you, something for you to laugh about whenever you go back to Earth! You've _never_ taken me seriously!" Wolfram accused. "From the beginning, ever since you proposed to me, everything's always been about you! About what you want, what you need!"

Yuuri didn't know why, but that accusation angered him quite a bit. Was it really his fault that the other boy was so hung up on him? He hadn't done anything to make Wolfram go along with the engagement. That had been entirely the blond's choice. There was nothing binding them together, nothing to keep either one of them from breaking it off besides Wolfram's pride and feelings and Yuuri's guilt.

"That's not true!" the king shouted back, his agitation getting the better if him. He knew it really wasn't good to take his anger out on his friend, that yelling back was only going to make things worse, but then he'd never been very bright to begin with. "Everything's always about _you_ and you know it! And even when it isn't, you _make_ it about you! Just like now! I'm trying to explain myself, but you won't even let me! I didn't want to do this, Wolfram, and I don't want to fight with you about it!"

"Then why didn't you try talking to me earlier? Why did you have to wait all day to face me? Why couldn't you come out and talk to me about it instead of sending Conrart to do it for you? Does the idea of us getting married repulse you that much?"

"No!" he said, his black eyes narrowing. "I don't know why I-"

"You stupid jerk!" the blond demon cut him off yet again, though his wording wasn't nearly as harsh as Yuuri knew it could be . "_I'll_ tell you why you had to send someone else! It's because you're too much of a coward to do it yourself! You're so damned close-minded-"

"_I'm _close-minded?"

"Yes, _you_!" Wolfram replied. "Don't act all sweet and innocent, like you don't have prejudices, too! You're as guilty of that as I am! You've been ignoring our engagement until now because you can't get over the fact that we're both men, right? Isn't that one of your Earthen bigotries, one of your social taboos?"

"That's _not_ the reason!"

"Isn't it?" the blond wondered, moving ever closer, looking as if he were about to snap completely. "I love you, Yuuri!"

"I know that!"the nineteen year old said in return, averting his eyes, unable to look at him at that moment. His own fists balled by his sides, and he felt like pulling his hair out. Why did they always get sucked into these sorts of arguments? Couldn't they just talk civilly for once? And why did Wolfram insists on reminding him of his feelings when he already knew what they were? Was he trying to make him feel even worse?

"But you don't like it," his friend pointed out.

"I never said-"

Again he was cut off. "You don't have to! It's written all over your face! Every time I say it, you cringe like I've said something disgusting! Or maybe... maybe you're just too scared to admit that you might have feelings, too!"

"Of course I have feelings! Me not wanting to marry you had nothing to do with you being a boy! You're my friend, Wolfram!"

"I'm tired of being _just friends_, Yuuri! I've been your friend for four years now, and look where that's got me! I'm sick of constantly being pushed away! I want more!"

"And you're getting more!"

"_Bullshit_!" the other boy cursed, loud enough to make the king flinch back at his tone. "Things will still be the same even after the wedding! You'll go on ignoring me just like you always do!"

"How have I ignored you! Dammit!" Yuuri finally allowed himself to swear as well. It wasn't usually like him to do so; typically he had more control than the green eyed noble, but right now the stress and irritation were taking it's toll on him, and he ended up sounding a bit harsher than he intended to. "Stop being a brat and _listen_ to me! How the hell am I supposed to take you seriously when you act like such a prick!"

He cut himself off after that, dark eyes widening as he realized what he'd been saying. Wolfram stood frozen about a yard away from him, the angry red flush leaving his face, his pale skin going white. Yuuri instantly wished he could take that back, his anger washing out of him in a matter of seconds. He forced himself to calm down, silently counting to ten as he took a deep breath and prepared for Wolfram's reply, forcing himself not to say anything else that he might regret later.

"Brat? Prick? Is that the best you can come up with?" Wolfram wondered, a sad smirk crossing his face as he did so, his voice gone soft again for a moment, gradually rising in volume as he continued. "Why don't you tell me what you really think about me! You don't have to hold back! You're the king; you can say whatever the hell you want! I'm sure you have tons more original things to say than just that!

"Do you know how many people have called me that since I was born?" he asked, enraged, that hurt look from before returning to his emerald eyes. "My whole life, I haven't been anything but the bratty third son of the 26th Demon Queen, Cecilie von Spitzweg, little Lord Wolfram with his mother's look and not much else. I _hate_ looking like her! I hate this face, and this hair, and these eyes! They're the only reason anybody's ever wanted me!

"And then they talk about me when they think I can't hear them!" he went on, taking a few more steps in Yuuri's direction. "They call me spoiled and selfish; even my own big brother thinks like that! But I'm _not_ as spoiled as everyone says I am," he denied. "There's only one thing I've ever really wanted! Do you know what that is, Yuuri?"

The king silently shook his head, eyes widening more at the other youth's rant, his guilt growing by the second.

"I want someone to act like they care about me! I want someone to _love_ me!" he screamed, standing only a foot away now, looking up at the boy who had once been the same height as him, but who now stood almost a full head taller. "My own father never gave a shit about me, and my mother is so consumed by her 'search for free love' that she forgets about the love she has _right here_! She forgets how much I love her, how much I need her! I'm just the pathetic third son she bore to a man who eventually left her! The only thing she notices about me is that I look exactly like her! I'm just a fucking doll to her, someone she can dress up and cuddle when she feels the need to, and then dump onto someone else when she goes away again!"

Yuuri wondered if Wolfram even realized that he had tears in his eyes, or if he just didn't care about holding them back anymore. His fiancé's green orbs were glistening with them, a few clinging to his long lashes, ready to tumble down his face at any moment. The king suddenly had another strong urge, one he'd never really had before, and one that caused him quite a bit of confusion. This one told him to hush the other boy, to take back everything he'd said to him and brush his tears away, not wanting to see anymore.

He'd never seen his fiancé so upset before.

"All Gwendal cares about is the kingdom!" Wolfram was still ranting, his voice wavering again. "No matter what I do or how much I look up to him, he never even cracks a smile my way! I can never please him, I've never done anything deserving of his praise! I'm just an annoyance to him, just a little pest that constantly gets in his way!"

"Conrad-"

"Don't you even get me started on him," the king was interrupted immediately. "He may have acted like my big brother when I was young and ignorant, he may have taken care of me out of pity because my father left and Mother was always busy, but he never _really_ loved me! If he did he wouldn't have lied to me, he wouldn't have hidden things from me! Conrart betrayed my trust and _so have you_!"

The blond was screaming now, not caring if anyone walking the halls could hear them arguing. It was like he'd been holding all of this in for a long time, and now that he was finally getting it out in the open he couldn't stop himself. "I'm tired of hearing about the kingdom, about the humans! Everything I've ever done was supposed to be for the people! Never for me! Never because I wanted to! It was always because I had to, I needed to, all for people who couldn't care less if I lived or died!

"I thought _you_ would be different! I thought after a while maybe you would care! I thought I could actually do something for me for once, for us, that we'd fall in love and get married because we _want_ to! And then you do this, when I thought that maybe you wouldn't be like everyone else! But you're _exactly _like them! You're exactly like my father, and my mother, and my brothers! It's always, _always_ for the kingdom! You don't give a shit about _me_!"

The first tear fell then, and when Wolfram felt it making a wet path down his left cheek his eyes instantly widened, his voice catching as his throat constricted. He looked mortified, his lower lip trembling as his mouth fell open in surprise, like he couldn't believe he'd gotten so carried away, like he hadn't even known what he'd been doing, what he'd been saying, until that very moment. He backed up a step as if he were about to run away, though there wasn't anywhere he could go in the room where Yuuri wouldn't be able to follow and find him. The black haired king was still standing in front of the door, blocking the room's only exit.

A few more tears fell only seconds after the first, sliding slowly down his face to fall and make small wet patches on the pink material of his nightgown. Quivering hands rose to touch his cheeks, slender fingers feeling the wetness there, surprised by he fact that it had gotten to this point, that he was now standing in tears in front of the one person who he'd never wanted to see him cry. He made a choking sound in the back of his throat, trying to wipe the liquid drops away, but more came to replace the ones that were gone, staining his pale cheeks a bright red. He clenched his teeth and struggled to hold back, but it was no use.

Yuuri didn't know what to do. He'd never seen his friend cry before. For the longest time he'd thought that Wolfram never cried. Yuuri had always been the one to get that upset before, not Wolfram. Wolfram screamed and threw stuff, a pillow, a vase, it didn't matter, whatever was in easy reaching distance would suffice. Wolfram cursed and stomped around, shouting until his face turned scarlet with anger, before locking himself in a closet, slamming the door loud enough for everyone in the entire castle to hear. Wolfram was emotional, moody even, but not like this, _never_ like this.

Yuuri could only remember one time in all the years that he'd known the other boy when Wolfram had actually cried, and the blond haired boy had sounded so pitiful as he'd called his name that Yuuri hadn't been able to turn around to face him. He hadn't wanted to ruin the picture he'd always had in his mind when thinking about the other boy; beautiful, strong Wolfram, someone who was always in control, who was never weak, who never shed a tear. The blond demon was his rock, the one who kept him grounded and honest with himself, who reminded him of who he was when faced with challenges and obstacles, the one person he never had to hide anything from.

Now that he was being faced with a side of the boy he'd never seen before, the lost little child that Wolfram constantly kept hidden away, Yuuri didn't know what to do. His black eyes were wide as he stared down at him, concern immediately washing through him, replacing any of the anger or annoyance that remained. Guilt gnawed at his heart, harsh and painful, like someone was reaching a hand into his chest and squeezing as hard as they possibly could.

If he'd known this was going to happen, that he'd have to see something like this, he wouldn't have agreed with his advisers in the study today. He'd felt bad enough about the whole thing to begin with; this just made him feel ten times worse.

Why had Wolfram agreed to the wedding if it obviously hurt him so much?

Internally he told himself that was a stupid question and that he should have already known the answer, but that didn't stop him from wondering.

Slowly, cautiously, the dark haired half-human took one step foreword, back no longer pressed against the door, moving towards the other boy nervously. "Wolf..." he softly called to him.

"Don't look at me!" came the harsh reply. Wolfram quickly turned around, covering his face with his hands, ashamed. He didn't want to be seen like this... not by anyone, least of all Yuuri.

"No, wait," Yuuri said, taking another step closer. "Look I... I..." he stuttered, fumbling with his words. "I didn't want to make it seem like you were being forced into this, Wolf. I told the others... I told them that... that we wouldn't do this if you have any problems with it. I'm not... not making you do anything. It's your choice."

Evidently that hadn't been the right thing to say, because Wolfram lowered his hands to shout again, though his back remained facing the taller, older looking male. "Are you that _stupid?_!" he asked, almost sounding as if he were insulted. "Have you ever listened to anything I have to say? I _want_ to marry you, Yuuri! I've spent the last four years waiting for you to finally come around, and when you do I find out it's all for politics, so you'll have someone young to take over for you when you die! I'm just a tool to you, someone for you to use so you can accomplish one of your goals!"

"I don't think of you as a tool!" the king exclaimed, shaking his head. "Wolfram, I don't like this any more than you do!"

At that, the blond spun around to face him, glaring darkly, narrowed green eyes still steadily leaking. "Then why did you agree to it?" he asked accusingly.

"Because I..." he stumbled in his speech yet again, unable to find the correct words to pacify his heartbroken fiancé. "I... I just thought..."

His counterpart let out a bitter laugh, sniffing lightly. "You're an awful liar, Yuuri."

"I'm not lying!" he said, shaking his head once more, black bangs falling into his dark eyes. "I... I don't know if I can say the right thing... but... I never meant to hurt you, or to make it seem like I'm using you and taking advantage of the fact that we're engaged. I'm not." He stared him straight in the eye, trying his hardest to explain himself as clearly and as simply as he possibly could. "I... I care about you. You're my _best friend_, even when you act spoiled or jealous. I know... I know how you feel about me... and that's why I hesitated to agree to this wedding, because I _knew _it would make you upset. But... if I have to do this... I... I wouldn't want to marry anyone else."

Wolfram looked surprised at that admittance, even a little confused. "What?" he softly asked, his voice small.

"I trust you," Yuuri replied, determined to get his thoughts and feelings out - all of them. "I know I can count on you to take care of things when I'm not here. I know that you'll do the right thing, regardless of your feelings." He took another step towards the slighter boy, glad when Wolfram didn't move away. "Ever since I first came here, you're the only one who's ever been completely honest with me. You've protected me, saved my butt more than once." He smiled lightly in remembrance. "You've lived up to your role as my fiancé even when I tried to push you away or ignored our engagement. You never let me forget that you'd always be there."

Slowly, nervously, Yuuri lifted his right hand and reached out to the blond, resting his palm against a tear stained cheek and gently wiped the moisture away. This sudden, unexpected physical contact just served to make emerald eyes widen even more, a couple of stray tears tumbling down to splatter against Yuuri's hand, which was calloused from both the sword and baseball.

"I know I haven't been very understanding," the king continued. "I don't have any right to even ask you to go along with this. I've probably hurt you plenty of time without even realizing it, and I'm sorry. If I'd known that things were going to end up like this, that we'd have to marry because of the kingdom and not because we love each other, that I'd end up hurting you like this, I would have taken back my proposal at the very beginning. I shouldn't have made you hang on this whole time. It's not fair to you."

"Don't say that," Wolfram said in return, his own hands coming up, fisting the black fabric of Yuuri's uniform jacket, clutching at it tightly. "Don't you ever say that!" he repeated, louder this time. "I could have broken off the engagement, too, but I didn't want to, because... because I don't want you to be with anyone else! I told you before that if you fall, I'll fall, too, and I meant it! I'll follow you... anywhere... I'll do anything if it means I can be with you! You're _my_ fiancé and we're going to get married! I'm _not_ letting you go!"

"But..." Yuuri began again, wanting to make sure that this was what the other boy really wanted, not wanting him to have any regrets, or one day resent him for this. "You realize that you'll have the responsibility of ruling, too. I know that you never wanted to be a king; hell, you didn't even want me to be the king. If you don't want to do that I-"

"I can do it," Wolfram told him, lowering his head to rest against one of his shoulders, one that had once been as narrow as thin as the blond's own, but one that had broadened and strengthened with age. "I wouldn't have agreed if I couldn't," he said, the remainder of his tears drying against the kings dark shirt.

Yuuri stood stock still for a moment or two, not knowing what to do, feeling as Wolfram's hands released their hold on his jacket, slender arms then curling around his torso, hugging him tightly, though refusing to look up at him, as if he were afraid to see the look on the other young man's face.

They'd never really embraced like this before. Of course there had been times when Wolfram had grabbed him and hung on to him in anger or jealousy, but Yuuri had never willingly allowed himself to be held by the blond boy. He'd thought it would be too awkward, one boy clinging to another, hadn't been able to understand how he could possibly feel comfortable in such a situation.

But now he could admit that it wasn't so bad. Wolfram wasn't trying to push him into something he didn't want to do, nor was he attempting to take advantage of their sudden closeness. There was nothing lewd or sexual about the act, just one close friend seeking comfort from another, and Yuuri found himself wanting to reciprocate. Slowly he lifted his arms, afraid of moving too fast, winding them around the fair haired boy until he was hugging him back, pulling him just a little closer, ignoring the close-minded fool of a voice in the back of his brain that was always holding him back.

This was okay. This was something he could do and feel comfortable with.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, though he wasn't sure if it was for the marriage or the fact that he'd been a complete idiot for denying the other boy something so simple and unthreatening this whole time.

"Don't apologize, wimp," Wolfram replied quietly, burying his face into the king's shoulder so that his voice was a little muffled. "It's not your fault. You never asked for this job. I... _I'm_ sorry."

Yuuri smiled at the familiar insult, knowing it meant Wolfram was going to be okay.

They both fell silent after that, but continued to hold onto one another, as if they were making up for all the times they'd never allowed themselves to be this close before. The pale noble squeezed him tightly so that they were pressed almost flush up against each other. Yuuri's heart thumped hard against his ribcage and he sighed deeply in an attempt to calm it, closing his dark eyes as he squeezed Wolfram in return. It felt nice, comforting, so different from what he'd originally thought, making him feel like an moron for being so hesitant.

Wolfram was warm, and the golden hair against his cheek was soft, silken strands catching the light of the burning candles, almost glowing in the dim bed chamber. They fit together almost perfectly, and Yuuri silently wondered if it would have felt the same back when he'd been younger, when they'd been the same height, the same size, and looked about the same age. Now Wolfram looked so much younger than him, even if he was really decades older. Now he seemed smaller, not exactly short, but dainty, petit, thin and slender. He still looked boyish, still seemed as old as he'd appeared the very day they'd met.

Yuuri knew it probably seemed unfair that they were aging at different rates, but there was a part of him that liked it, that rejoiced at the fact that he'd never have to see his friend as anything but lively, young, and breathtakingly beautiful. He'd always be able to remember Wolfram as the attractive youth he'd met the day after he'd first been sucked into this world. He wouldn't have to see his beauty ruined by age, wouldn't have to worry about losing his best friend to the trials of time.

Although, he supposed it was a bit selfish of him to think that, because even though he'd never have to see his fiancé like that, Wolfram eventually would. Yuuri knew that though the blond had gotten over most of his prejudices concerning humans and half-breeds, he still despised how the other race aged and grew old so rapidly. His friend absolutely hated having to look up at him now, when their eyes had once been at the same level. Sometimes he'd find the other boy looking at he and Greta sadly, maybe thinking of the future, when they'd appear old enough to pass off as his parents.

Thinking about it like that made the dark haired king sad. It was no wonder why Wolfram seemed to always want to be with him, constantly hanging around him even when Yuuri would rather be alone. The slighter boy was using all the time they had to be close, wanted to spend time together now before it was too late.

What would become of Wolfram when Yuuri was no longer here? Would he go on with his life, maybe find someone else to care for and protect, someone to fill the loneliness? Would he be forced into yet another marriage, maybe one that he may not want as much as this one? Would someone else come along and earn his fiancé's love?

Yuuri didn't know how to feel about that thought. A part of him wanted his friend to be happy, and if that meant moving on to someone else, finding another man to give his affections to, then so be it. Wolfram was surely deserving of love and companionship, deserved a lot more than what the current king could give him. The blond was one of the most loyal, devoted people he'd ever met - one of the very few similarities he shared with his half-human second brother. When Wolfram cared about you he put his whole heart and soul into it, and wouldn't let you forget for even one second how he felt about you. There was no doubting his fidelity and loyalty.

But there was another part of the black haired young man, a small part hidden deep down inside, buried beneath all of his stubbornness and denial, that didn't want Wolfram to be with anyone else. That tiny part of him even felt a little jealous just thinking about it, and his arms unconsciously tightened around the smaller male as a result. He didn't know how he'd come to earn Wolfram's love, if it had been something he'd done or something he'd said. He'd been given the other boy's heart without being aware of it, and he didn't want to lose it, didn't want to hand it over to anyone, even someone who'd willingly give Wolfram everything he wanted.

It was selfish and unfair, but it was the honest truth.

"Just... promise me something," Yuuri spoke up after a while, breaking the silence that had filled the room for the last couple of minutes, trying to get his mind off of his confusing, conflicting feelings.

Slowly Wolfram lifted his head, his tears now gone but his cheeks still stained, emerald eyes looking up at him curiously. "What is it?" he asked softly, almost whispering, like he was afraid of speaking too loudly and ruining the moment.

"Promise me... that no matter what happens... you'll never sign a Declaration of War."

The blond haired noble stared at him for a long while, not saying anything, just staring into his eyes, as if words had escaped him and he didn't know what to say to that request.

"Do you honestly think I'd do that?" he finally wondered, though he didn't sound mad or insulted at all, his voice still soft. "I know... that when you first came here... it seemed like I was using everything as an excuse to go to war... but..." he paused, frowning sadly. "After what happened in the war over twenty years ago... I... I don't want something like that to ever happen again."

Yuuri nodded, accepting that as a good enough oath, trusting Wolfram not to go back on it.

The shorter boy lowered his head of golden hair onto the demon king's shoulder again, taking a deep breath as he further tightened his embrace. "I promise," he quietly swore, giving his word, showing again that he was willing to follow his king anywhere, not matter the obstacle.

Yuuri sighed and remained hugging his fiancé, closing his eyes once more as he thought of all that had happened in the past, and all that would happen in the weeks to come, making a promise of his own, swearing to himself that he'd never take Wolfram's feelings for granted again and that he would try to understand and accept them, even if he couldn't readily return them.

For now, this was enough...

This was more than enough.

**TBC…**


	4. Croiser

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Four - Croiser - To Meet  
**

One and a half weeks passed by after the date of the wedding had been announced, until only three more days remained before the Aristocrats would give their blessings.

Yuuri was nervous. Murata had sat down with him to discuss how the ceremony would go, but even his dark haired friend's reassurances could not assuage his feelings of anxiety. It was an ancient ceremony, one that had been conducted since the founding of the Ten Aristocrats, where they would come together as a council and approve or disprove of the King's (or Queen's) prospective spouse. Each Aristocrat was given the right to say what they thought of the union, and if half of them disagreed and found fault with the person who would serve by the king's side then the wedding was forsaken and the engagement terminated.

The current monarch was worried about something like that taking place, for even though the Aristocrats had long since worked together to protect the Great Demon Kingdom and its people, there had been fighting amongst them recently on the account of encroaching warfare. There were quite a few who were angry at the king for not doing something as soon as the problems with Cimaron had arisen, and Yuuri wondered if they may end up refusing to approve of the wedding out of spite. He'd already heard his three advisers whispering to each other about that possibility, and it made him wonder if the teamwork and companionship among the Aristocrats was falling apart.

He hated to think of what would happen to the country if such a thing were to happen. They'd already narrowly avoided a civil war once before. He didn't want to chance starting another one, especially when they had so many other problems to deal with presently. They couldn't afford to be side tracked by personal issues and pointless bickering.

With the fall of Francia, it had become glaringly obvious that Cimaron had no intention of giving up on their plans to destroy the demon tribe and anyone who supported them; not that they'd doubted Belar and his desires before - having one of their allies taken over just made it seem all the more real, and knowing that others were in danger only increased Yuuri's worry and anticipation. Antoine and Laila had managed to escape and seek shelter in Cavalcade, but it was only a matter of time before they'd be in danger again. Cavalcade could very well be next.

If they could have, Yuuri had been told that he and Wolfram would have already been married, but because of the ceremonies that needed to be conducted the soonest it could all be completed was in the span of three to four weeks. The eight Aristocrats who did not reside under the roof of Blood Pledge Castle needed to be summoned and given the time required to make their way to the capital, as it would take some a few days to cross the distance, and others could not come right away on account of their respective duties. He'd only met two of the Aristocrats before, four if he counted Gwendal and Gunter, but he knew that they were all busy, especially in times like these.

Lord Stoffel von Spitzweg was the first to arrive, a middle aged man Yuuri had grown used to seeing off and on through the years, along with his personal guard Raven. The three brothers had never been fond of their uncle Stoffel and his devious ways, Yuuri knew, but the black haired youth didn't really mind him too much. Sure, he'd been the one to instigate the war with the humans in the past, and Yuuri hadn't been too keen on being kidnapped shortly after beginning his reign as king, but Stoffel hadn't really tried much of anything since (at least not anything that had endangered his life… well, not too badly, at least), and now seemed as if he were willing to work with the new Demon King.

Lady Winifred von Yale was the second to make her way to the palace, a cold, austere woman Yuuri had been nervous about meeting. Winifred was probably one of the older looking demons he'd met in the last four years, with hair gone completely gray and wrinkles replacing the youthfulness of her face. She and Lady Celi did not seem to be on good terms, which Yuuri found to be quite odd. The blonde haired former queen was usually extremely friendly, sometimes overly so, and she wasn't one to ignore their guests, whoever they happened to be. But Winifred and Celi hardly even looked at one another, much less conversed or gossiped together.

When he had questioned this, he'd been informed by Günter that the two women had had a falling out of sorts during the time that Cecilie had married her second husband, when the gray haired woman had insulted the queen and questioned her loyalties. In truth, Dunheely had allied himself with the demon tribe and had been well liked by their people and more than half of the Aristocrats, despite his human blood. But there had been a select few who'd refused to accept the man, and that had truly been the beginning of the animosity among the council members. Winifred had obviously not gotten over the incident yet and avoided Celi as much as possible.

Yale had also been one of the territories who'd recently pushed for a war. Winifred had supported the last war and claimed that nothing would be solved this time around unless they took the same course of action. She'd sat with Yuuri many times since her arrival, attempted to talk him into signing a declaration and going after Cimaron before they could do any more damage. Yuuri promised her each time that he would do all that he could, stating that war was really his last resort, but that she should trust that he thought of nothing but the safety of his people when making such decisions. That seemed to satisfy her for a while, but the king worried about losing her confidence.

Lord Mikhail von Karbelnikoff arrived next, and Yuuri was relieved to see a friendly face. Being Anissina's older brother, he'd expected another eccentric inventor, only to find that Mikhail was much calmer than his younger sibling. He had the same flaming red hair, cut short instead of flowing down his back, and light brown eyes instead of Anissina's shocking blue. He seemed to be a very serene man; Yuuri had yet to hear him raise his voice, and he spoke nothing but good things about his king and country, refuting the idea of war and claiming that they must trust and follow their king in every decision.

Mikhail tried his hardest to get along well with everyone. He was often seen absorbed in a friendly debate with Gwendal or in serious discussion with Günter, bouncing ideas off of one another but never allowing themselves to be drawn into a shouting match. He sparred with Conrad in the afternoons and indulged Lady Celi with polite conversation during the daily meals, knowing exactly what to do and say to flatter her without seeming inappropriate or out of line. Most importantly, he knew how to control his little sister, and prevented her from snatching someone out of the blue and making them her guinea pig for the day.

Then came Lord Julius von Mannheim, who had served as one of the Great Demon Kingdom's generals for the last fifty years, and who had worked closely with Adalbert before the large blond man had left the country. Julius had supported Stoffel's insistence on going to war the last time, but had not approved of the way in which it had been fought, resulting in horrible battles that had seen the near destruction of both the human and the demon armies. This time around he seemed equally divided, not wanting to return to those dark times but willing to fight and lead the troops should it eventually come to that.

He did, however - despite his loyalties to his country - have a few problems with some of the other Aristocrats, ones that prevented him from being able to speak with them civilly. His and Stoffel's friendship had been strained, and he did not get along with the current head of Grantz at all. He and Winifred had never been exceptionally close, nor was he on good terms with the territory of Bielefeld, often showing his frustrations in a scathing look in Wolfram's direction. Yuuri had tried to ask what had made Julius so angry at the von Bielefeld's that he'd even take that anger out on someone with such loose connections with them, but no one had bothered to provide him with any sort of answer, and even Murata didn't seem to have a clue.

Yuuri assumed it had something to do with the war more than twenty years ago, and he was starting to think of it as the cause of everything that was going on now, both with Cimaron and among the demons themselves. He was beginning to feel much as he had when he'd first arrived in this world, back when everything had been going on with GegenHuber. He was being left in the dark again and he didn't like it, confusion setting in with each new arrival as he tried to figure things out on his own. No one seemed willing to tell him much of anything. Even Wolfram was strangely tight-lipped as the days went on, when he was usually more likely than anyone else to talk about the previous conflict.

Next to arrive was Lord Odell von Wincott, the loving father of the late Susannah Julia, whom Yuuri had met once before. Though the young dark eyed king sometimes felt a little odd around the older gray haired man (knowing that he possessed his dead daughter's soul), Odell was still a good friend, someone he could rely upon as a peaceful presence. He didn't seem resentful at all about his daughter's sudden demise, and appeared reluctant to dwell on it, remembering Julia as she had been and blaming no one for her tragic death.

Ladies Marlena von Grantz and Griselda von Hassel came together, each with their noses stuck high in the air, making a big to-do about how they'd had to leave their respective castles on such short notice. He'd been told by his lavender haired teacher that Adalbert's younger sister had taken over as head of their territory following Adalbert's betrayal and that the Grantz family had split down the middle due to the previous lord's actions. Half of them supported him in his decision to abandon the crown and the demon tribe, while the other half considered his desertion an act of treason and refused to approve of his return to his rightful place.

Marlena, who possessed Adalbert's sharp, sky blue eyes but had dark brown hair instead of dirty blonde, was one of the angry relatives, a severe, stern woman who hadn't been pleased at the new king's decision to grant her disgraceful older brother clemency. Yuuri had been warned to be wary around her, not only by his advisers, but by Adalbert himself, who had sent him a private message on the matter after receiving word of the upcoming wedding. Marlena hadn't caused any problems as of yet, but the young king could tell that she wasn't happy with him. Her constantly narrowed eyes made that fact quite obvious.

Lady Griselda was even worse, and while Winifred von Yale was silent in her hostility towards Cecilie von Spitzweg, the head of Hassel had no qualms with voicing her dislike, though Yuuri truly thought she was simply jealous of Lady Celi's beauty. Griselda had had just as many children as the previous ruler, but her figure was not nearly as perfect. She was a plump older woman, shorter than the blonde bombshell, with a pudgy face and thin, dull light brown hair that fell out of it's elaborate styles after only a few hours. Her face was often caked with powder, her attempts to hide the wrinkles that were beginning to form, and her lip stick was just a shade too bright for someone of her coloring.

She was not a nice woman at all, continuously complaining about whatever happened to cross her mind, ordering the poor maids around as if she owned the place. Yuuri tried to be pleasant around her, but her whining voice truthfully grated on his nerves, as did her insults towards his predecessor and her half human son. Griselda shared Lady von Yale's disgust for the former queen's second husband, and since the man himself was no longer alive they took their hatred out on Conrad. The brown haired soldier ignored them and didn't seemed as if he minded their cruel words, but Yuuri didn't like it, often taking their insults personally, as he was half human as well.

Having nine of the Ten Aristocrats under the same roof for more than a few days was proving to be very difficult. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were quiet affairs, now spent in near silence. Even Greta's delightful chatter didn't start until the least friendly of the adults had excused themselves from the table, and Lady Celi was strangely subdued. Wolfram hardly looked up from his plate and Günter only spoke when talking to the maids. Gwendal and Conrad barely said a word, and Yuuri himself was left fidgeting in his chair, glancing around uncomfortably. The tension was thick in the air, almost suffocating, so oppressing that Yuuri was actually happy to escape to his paperwork.

The only Aristocrat who had yet to arrive was Bielefeld, the one that gave the king the most worries, not because he was expecting any sort of problems from them - though he'd been warned that that was certainly a possibility - but because they were his fiancé's family. Ever since he and Wolfram had gotten engaged, no one from Bielefeld had come to visit, nor had they sent any form of congratulations. Wolfram himself rarely spoke about them, and when Yuuri asked he always replied with short answers of one or two words, clipped and uncaring. Apparently he wasn't very fond of the people he'd gotten his name from.

In the past, the Bielefeld's had used his blond friend to represent their territory at important gatherings and celebrations, so that they wouldn't have to go through the trouble of traveling from their estate to the capital, or sending someone else to fill in for them. Wolfram living at Blood Pledge Castle had always been very convenient to them, but now that he was marrying the king they could no longer use him in such a way. He wouldn't be a representative of Bielefeld anymore, but of the Great Demon Kingdom as a whole. The black haired youth had to wonder if they were at all annoyed to be losing such a valuable asset, and if they would approve of this wedding so easily.

He'd heard talk around the castle that the Bielefeld's had become a quiet, secretive bunch over the years, and that their lord, Wolfram's uncle Auberon, rarely left their manor. They'd been pushing for war since the hostilities between the Great Demon Kingdom and Cimaron had first started, so he expected the old man to act similarly to how some of the others were - angry and trying their hardest to sway his decision. Yuuri had also heard from Doria - as the honey blonde haired woman had been rushing down the hall with a basket of dirty bed linens - that Auberon did not like his nephew at all and had even considered not allowing him to carry the family name.

"Why?" Yuuri had asked his fiancé late that night as they'd been changing for bed, truly curious about Wolfram's family, noting how different it was from his own.

"'Why' what?" the blond had replied, appearing confused, though Yuuri knew the other boy was aware of what he was referring to and was probably being evasive simply because he didn't feel like talking about it.

"Why would your uncle not want you to have the Bielefeld name?"

Wolfram snorted, as if it didn't really matter, though he seemed more uncomfortable at that moment than anything else and was trying his best to hide it. "He doesn't like my mother, that's why."

"But she was married to his brother, right?"

"So? Just because my father married my mother doesn't mean the rest of his family liked her."

And that was the end of that conversation, as Wolfram had quickly escaped to bid Greta good night before the king could try to ask him anything else.

Yuuri wasn't really looking foreword to meeting the blond's uncle, especially after seeing how some of the other council members reacted around one another, and he could only hope that the man wasn't planning on causing he and his fiancé any trouble. They already had enough stress in their lives right now; a vicious relative was definitely not what they needed to calm their frazzled nerves. Just the thought that Auberon was coming was enough to have Wolfram on edge, and the younger looking boy became extra snappy as the days went on, his moods fluctuating wildly.

Before Auberon had sent word that he was coming, and after Yuuri and his lovely fiancé had had their confrontation that night a week and a half ago in their bedroom, Wolfram had calmed down immensely. Yuuri still felt guilty for putting him through this, but it helped him feel just a little better to see Wolf acting normally again. The Demon King was sure that the other boy was still hurt, but he rarely showed it. He actually looked pleased a majority of the time, like he was happy about the approaching wedding, when they'd be bound together forever and their engagement would no longer be threatened by the pretty women of the Great Demon Kingdom.

His previous rants of "how could you dance with a woman when you already have me?" had changed to "If I ever catch you with a mistress, I'll set your crotch on fire and gouge your eyes out." When such things would have annoyed the darker man before, or make him wince at such vivid imagery, he now found himself laughing and promising that he would remain forever faithful, as long as Wolfram didn't run off with some handsome demon lord - which had earned him a highly insulted huff in return. The fact that they were teasing one another over something they'd previously been arguing about was a bit weird, but Yuuri preferred it over the shouting and the tears.

He never wanted to see Wolfram cry again, and if going through with this wedding with a smile on his face and acting like it didn't bother him was what kept his fiancé from becoming that upset, then he'd gladly do it. Seeing Wolfram in tears just once was enough, and he'd do anything - say anything - to keep it from happening again for as long as he lived.

Lady Celi had begun planning the wedding ceremony and the following reception the very night that it had been announced, happy to have such a wonderful celebration to put together, even more so since it was her youngest son that was getting married. The invitations had been written and sent out, with a good number of their prospective guests having already RSVP-ed, stating that they would be more than happy to attend. The previous queen had even managed to drag her son into the room she kept filled with numerous bolts of expensive fabric, forcing him to stand still as she took his measurements, beginning the preparations for what he would be wearing at the wedding, an outfit Yuuri was not allowed to see until the ceremony.

He could only hope that it wasn't a big, frilly dress.

Greta was absolutely thrilled. She'd literally squealed in delight the moment she'd found out, glad that her two fathers were finally getting married, regardless of the circumstances. She'd had kisses and hugs ready the morning after she'd been told, which made Yuuri think a little better about the situation. At least they'd be giving Greta a real family, something the young girl hadn't had since she'd been a small child. The black haired king was happy to see the ecstatic smile on her face, amused by her excitement and elation, and by the speed at which she spoke about the dress her Grandma Celi was having specially made for her.

The entire castle was abuzz with activity, guards and soldiers doing a few last minute repair jobs, the maids cleaning and airing out all of the extra rooms that would house the multitude of guests, the cooks already making plans and experimenting with a few dishes for the meal at the reception. The capital had erupted in celebration when word had spread throughout the townsfolk. The populace seemed almost as jubilant as they'd been when their king had first come, celebrating until the wee hours of the morning. It was almost as if they'd forgotten about the ever present threat known as Cimaron, Gwendal having apparently been right it what he'd said about boosting morale.

But things began to quiet down as the day of von Bielefeld's arrival drew near, and not just because Auberon was making the trip from his estate to the castle, but because of who was joining him in his travels.

They'd received word just two days ago, around the time that Odell von Wincott had arrived, that Wolfram's father was coming along with his older brother. His presence wasn't really necessary until the actual wedding ceremony, and even then it wasn't required that he attend, but he'd chosen to come a few days early, for what purpose Yuuri didn't know. He and Auberon would be arriving today.

Wolfram's happy smile had faltered when he'd heard of his father's plans, and he'd looked positively shocked, the blood draining from his pretty face, leaving him even paler than usual. Yuuri had only heard his friend talk about his other parent a few times before: once during the search for the Demon Flute, a second time when the subject of the royal crest had been brought up, and then during their confrontation a few days ago. He knew next to nothing about his fiancé's father besides the fact that he'd been Lady Celi's third husband, had never seen him, not even during the incident with the Demon Mirror when he'd gone to the past and seen everyone during the last war.

He tried asking Conrad, not wanting to bother Wolfram about it, figuring he wouldn't want to speak on the subject, but even the brunet hadn't seemed to want to talk about him, and when Yuuri had questioned him he'd watched in confusion as the friendly smile had completely disappeared form his mentor's face. His usually warm eyes had hardened and his lips had curved down into a frown, his voice a bit cold as he'd said "He was never a good father," before going on to quickly change the subject.

The most information he got came from the maids and other servants, who began whispering between themselves and trading rumors about the man who had once served as King by Lady Celi's side. Some of them spoke of him as a harsh, cruel man, equal to Lord von Voltaire in seriousness, someone to be feared and respected, but never crossed. Others made him sound less frightening, stating that he'd been a very good king in the short amount of time that he'd served, stern but understanding, a good match for the rambunctious, sometimes flighty Demon Queen, a kind and caring husband, regardless of the fact that he'd eventually left his wife and child.

Yuuri didn't know if he should be looking forward to his visit or not. Most of what everyone else had to say about him made him sound as if he weren't a very nice man. Wolfram refused to talk about him and a distant look crossed his face whenever he was mentioned. Conrad, also, did not speak on the subject of his step-father, and Gwendal wasn't much better when it came to giving information, though he appeared more disinterested than angry, like he didn't care what his youngest brother's paternal figure chose to do. It all served to make Yuuri quite perplexed, wanting answers but unable to find any.

Until, that is, the day of his arrival.

He should have thought to ask Lady Celi earlier, but he hadn't wanted to be rude and voice what he thought were rather inappropriate questions, especially to the former queen. He didn't know much about any of her three husbands, and what he had heard didn't seem very encouraging. Two of them were dead and two of them had walked out on her, leaving her a widow and a single mother. He knew next to nothing about the details, but he still couldn't see how the blonde haired woman could possibly smile after all of that. It sounded so sad. He could only imagine what it must be like with all those depressing memories.

"I'm sure you'll like him, Your Majesty," Lady Celi said, a soft smile on her face.

He was standing beside her, waiting outside for the last of the Aristocrats to finally arrive. He, the previous queen, Wolfram, Greta, and Conrad had gathered out by the front steps, watching for the carriage that would be appearing any minute now. His fiancé sat sullenly on the last of the stone steps, green eyes staring through the wrought iron gates as Greta chattered on next to him, attempting to cheer the blond haired boy up. Conrad stood off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, his face devoid of his warm smile as he lost himself in silent contemplation. It was strange to see the brown haired man as he was now, with chocolate eyes narrowed in obvious contempt.

Yuuri looked to Celi when her statement registered in his brain, curious. He'd yet to hear many good things about Wolfram's father, though he still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. The black haired king had never been one to judge people by what others said about them, and he wasn't going to start now. Plenty of people spoke bad things about Stoffel, but Yuuri had long since learned to deal with him, and even considered the man as somewhat of a friend. Just because one person believed something about someone else didn't make it true.

"Auberon can be a bit overbearing, but my husband was a good man. I met him when I was a child - we grew up together - and then we were married a few years after Dan Hiri left," she explained, green eyes looking up at the blue sky wistfully. "He was such as handsome man! But then all of my husbands were handsome! And my sons are just as attractive, though Wolfram's the only one who doesn't take after his father!" She looked thoughtful for a moment, bringing one of her hands up to tap a perfectly manicured nail against one of her cheeks. "Except his temper. I don't believe he go that from me."

"What's his name?" Yuuri asked her, lifting his own hand to nervously tug at his stiff collar. Even after all these years, his daily attire consisted of his old high school uniform.

"Wolfgang von Bielefeld," she replied with a dreamy smile, eyes sparkling.

"Wolfgang? You mean like Mozart?"

"Who's Mozart?" the king's fiancé piped up from where he was sitting, narrowing green orbs at the dark haired boy suspiciously, and Yuuri knew he'd begin to start accusing him of cheating if he didn't stop that train of thought immediately.

"Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a famous eighteenth century composer on Earth," Conrad answered for him, walking over to where Celi and Yuuri were standing. His arms remained crossed and a smile had yet to make it's way across his face, making him seem more like his older brother than the kindhearted young man he normally was. "You would like his work, Wolfram."

Yuuri supposed he would. The blond had an affinity for the arts (though he painted as well as a two year old) and could appreciate stuff like Mozart in a way that the dark haired king never could, since it was more similar to the kind of music played in this world than what Yuuri himself listened to.

"So then was Wolfram named after him or something?" he asked, noting the obvious similarities in their names.

"I guess you could say that," Celi replied. "To tell you the truth, I actually thought I was having a girl. I figured that after two boys I'd finally have a little princess. It was going to name her Else, but then when I gave birth I found out I had another son and since I hadn't thought up any names for a boy I settled on Wolfram. Wolfgang and Wolfram. I thought it was cute, and since Wolf had always wanted a son it seemed fitting."

"I think I'd rather be named Else," Wolfram mumbled, Greta giggling from beside him.

"You don't mean that!" Celi said with a gasp, turning to gaze down at her youngest child. "Wolfram is a good , strong name. Your father was so excited when you were born!"

"He wasn't even there," Conrad reminded her, his frown deepening.

"He had things to attend to," his mother replied, defending her third husband against her second son. "You know how busy he was."

"He left before Wolfram was even five years old."

"He had his reasons for leaving, Conrart, just as your father did," Celi told him, not seeming to mind the brunet's obvious dislike. "He had his duties and I had mine. I don't blame or resent him, nor do I regret the time I spent with him. He's been as good of a father as he could, given the circumstances. He's a good man," she said again, "and a hero."

"You call what he did in Bastille heroic?" the brown haired soldier wondered, and it was clear that although his mother might think so, he most definitely did not.

Cecilie glanced up at him, frowning sadly. "I think if you'd let him explain what happened and why you would understand. You had just gotten back from Luttenberg at the time. There are a lot of things about that incident that might make you reconsider if you'd just talk to him about it."

"There is no excuse for his actions, and the Courts were wrong not to hold him accountable for it."

"Conrart..."

Yuuri was rightly confused, growing a bit agitated as he continued to listen to them without any idea of what they were talking about. He looked to Wolfram to see his reaction but found the blond staring off into space again, his face blank of any real emotion. Greta was looking between all of those who were present, just as in the dark as her black haired father, and when their eyes met he could do nothing but shrug. He hadn't a clue as to where Bastille was, could only assume that it was a town or village, nor had he any guess as to what happened there and what the Courts had to do with anything.

From what they were saying, the only thing he thought it could be was a battle near the end of the war, though he couldn't imagine what could have possibly happened there that one person would deem heroic and another would think the parties involved should be punished for. Perhaps Wolfgang von Bielefeld had broken some kind of law, or caused as many deaths as GegenHuber was said to have. Yuuri knew there were plenty of people who would hold grudges over something like that. It had taken two decades before anyone was willing to forgive Hube. Maybe it was the same with Wolfgang.

He'd learned through his lessons with Günter that those who committed crimes within the boundaries of the Great Demon Kingdom were taken before the Court in order to undergo a trial and receive punishment for their transgressions - should they be found guilty - and that the Courts comprised of the Ten Aristocrats, as well as a few other high standing members of the Imperial Court. He'd heard that the King (or Queen) had a certain amount of influence over the verdict, as he suspected often happened in governments such as their own, so Lady Celi's opinion on the matter could be different from her sons based on her obvious bias, and Wolfgang could have easily been acquitted due in part to her influence.

"What kind of duties does he have?" the king broke into the conversation again, fishing for information. He didn't want to come right out and ask what they were referring to, since he figured it wasn't something they'd willingly speak to him about (like most things concerning the war), but he still wanted to try and put the pieces of the puzzle together, even if he had to do it himself. "Is he in the army?"

"He's a captain in the navy," Celi beamed a smile his way, evidently still very fond of her third husband, their separation having not changed her feelings in the least, though she'd since moved on to other men.

"Really? So he mans a ship then, right?"

"Yes. The HMS Odette."

"Hmm," Yuuri made a thoughtful noise, intrigued. Then he turned to look at his fiancé, one eyebrow raised in question. "Your father's a navy captain and you get seasick?" he wondered, thinking that with a background like that the other boy should be more accustomed to the ocean.

"Shut up," Wolfram demanded, cheeks flushing a light rose. "It's not my fault."

"Wolfram has a weak stomach," Greta observed with another giggle.

The young king laughed at his fiancé's frown, smiling at him good naturedly. "And you call _me_ a wimp."

"That's because you _are_ one," Wolfram shot back.

"Then what does that make you?"

"A wimp-ette," their daughter offered teasingly.

"Or a wuss," Yuuri said, teasing also, his smile widening as Wolfram's frown morphed into a pout as both his fiancé and daughter ganged up on him. "King Wimp and Prince Wuss. Don't we make the most un-intimidating royal couple ever? It's a miracle anyone ever takes us seriously."

He was joking, of course. There were plenty of people who thought he was an excellent king, though he didn't really know what he'd done to warrant such praise, and he knew Wolfram would do more than a decent job ruling by him. The kingdom expected great things from them and spoke of them with insurmountable confidence. They'd already been compared to some other famous rulers of the past, with the compassion and understanding of Queen Cecilie, the determination of the 15th Demon King, Bellamy, and the devotion of he Original King himself. They had a lot to live up to, especially by being compared to the Great One.

"Maybe they'd be more inclined to take us seriously if you weren't such a dimwit," Wolfram said in return, standing to his feet and crossing his arms defensively, sticking his nose in the air in typical Wolfram fashion. "For a king, you aren't very bright."

"At least I'm not girly."

"I could argue that. I seem to remember a time when you snuck out of Castle Spitzweg dressed as a maid."

"That was all Yozak's doing," Yuuri made sure to remind him. "And I'm not the one who wears pink on a regular basis."

"I wear what's flattering."

The Demon King snorted in amusement. "I don't know any other guy who's as concerned about his appearance as you."

"Who says I'm concerned with it? I simply like to look presentable. Otherwise, I wouldn't earn any respect from the rest of high society."

"Maybe you really should have been born a girl," Yuuri continued to pester him, though he didn't really mean it.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the blond mumbled, moving to stand beside him, leaving Greta alone on the bottom step. "Well get over it. You're stuck with me for the rest of your life, and if I ever catch you with some girl, I swear I'll-"

"I know, I know," he said, preventing him from continuing, trying to ignore the rather gruesome mental image that came to mind at his threats. "You don't have to remind me. Jeez. I promise I won't cheat on you. Just cool off with the jealous fits, okay?"

"Who says I'm jealous?" Wolfram asked, his pale cheeks pinking again as he looked up at the king with slightly narrowed eyes. "What's there to be jealous of anyway?"

"I don't know. The girls in this world seem to think I'm pretty hot," the black haired boy said, feigning innocence. In truth, he didn't know why the girls in this world thought of him the way they did. During all his years on earth, he'd never once had a whole hoard of women swarming around him, although here he suspected it had something to do with his status and his exotic looks. There were very few people in this world with both black hair and eyes. He wouldn't have been surprised if he and Murata were the only ones.

"They don't think you're _attractive_," Wolfram stressed the last word, disliking his use of such common language. "They want you because you're the king."

"But even people who don't know that I'm the king seem to think that, like when I'm in disguise."

He didn't know why he was arguing with his fiancé on the topic of his supposed good looks, or how they'd even gotten into this conversation in the first place. What he _did_ know was that he found it strangely amusing to cause his friend's face to flush, and that it was actually great fun to tease the other boy. It was weird that he felt this way, he knew, but since he could tell that Wolfram wasn't really angered by it he went on doing it, the blond looking a little pleased to be receiving some much desired attention.

"Don't you think I'm hot?" he asked, completely on a whim.

Wolfram's face instantly went red, and he looked at a loss for words. Greta was still giggling from her place on the bottom step, large brown eyes glued to her two adoptive fathers as she watched the show, finding it very entertaining. Conrad had finally cracked a smile and he had to struggle to hold back his light laughter, turning to the side so that he wouldn't start chuckling at the startled, embarrassed look on his younger brother's face, knowing Wolfram did not take being laughed at lightly. The blond seemed almost humiliated, unable to say anything to deny or agree with what Yuuri had just asked him.

Yuuri himself was feeling greatly accomplished. However odd he thought it was to have another man chasing after him, he had to admit that there was a part of him that liked the fact that he could get the other boy to react in such a way. Usually it was he who ended up being flustered, stuttering as he tried to explain himself, and it was a little thrilling to know that he could do the same thing to Wolfram, take all of his fiancé's control away and leave him looking so startled. It was so much easier to read the emotions in his eyes this way, since he was no longer guarding them as carefully as he usually tried to. He was too surprised to do so.

"You're blushing," Lady Celi told her youngest son, her sing-song voice lilting as she poked at one of his red cheeks with a slender index finger. "His Majesty _is_ very handsome, isn't he? You two look wonderful together!" she crowed. "You'll make all the ladies jealous! I'm sure your wedding night will be exciting!"

"Mother!" Wolfram managed to gasp, the color of his face darkening even more, and even Yuuri found himself blushing at that. He really hoped it wasn't expected that there be a 'wedding night.'

"I remember when your father and I first got together," Celi continued to babble. "Wolfgang was amazing in bed! It was always so passionate and intense! And he knew just the right way to-"

"Mother!" her youngest offspring exclaimed again, effectively cutting her off. "We don't need to know! How can you be so immodest!"

"Oh, stop it! How do you think you got here?" she wondered. "A bird didn't just fly through the window and drop you into my arms, you know. If it were that simple, it wouldn't have been so scandalous!" She said all this with a smile on her face, as if she rather liked causing a fuss amongst all the stiff and dignified nobles.

"Scandalous?" Yuuri questioned, confused. "But you were married."

Cecilie shook her head, her smile remaining in place. "I got pregnant before Wolfgang and I were married. It caused quite the uproar within the kingdom." She giggled, amused by her memories, though Yuuri didn't think that was something to be proud of. "Brother claimed we had forever tarnished our credibility, since I was still technically married to Dunheely, and Wolf was still with his first wife. But once he divorced her and we went before the Great One to ask for permission, it was granted to us. Talk began to die down after that."

"Mother, do we really need to discuss this?" her blond son asked her, looking like he'd very much like to change to the subject. Yuuri would have done so if he weren't so curious about the whole thing, realizing that this sort of conversation was quickly making Wolfram uncomfortable.

Could this possibly be one of the causes of his hidden insecurities? Even after the Great One had given permission for Celi and Wolfgang to marry, Yuuri was sure there had still been many people who'd spoken in opposition. He could imagine that some of the Aristocrats had been more than a little peeved about the incident, especially with it coming from their queen and a member of one of their aristocratic families. It seemed like something Lady von Yale would look down upon, along with many of the other women who held such upstanding morals.

"I'm only telling His Majesty the truth. I'm sure you've never talked to him about it," the blonde woman pointed out.

"And there's a reason for that. It's not an appropriate topic of discussion."

"Don't be so silly," his mother said with another girlish giggle. Celi seemed to like embarrassing her sons as much as possible - Wolfram especially - which was proving quite simple to do with someone as prim and proper as the blond. "It doesn't matter what anyone else has to say about it. It's our business; not theirs, and it has nothing to do with you. It's between your father and me." She smiled brightly. "It was different than when I was pregnant with your brothers," the previous queen said, shifting to a related topic. "I was sick all the time for the first few months. You remember, don't you, Conrart?"

"Yes, Mother," the brunet replied indulgently.

"And then I felt like I was in labor for day! You were such a stubborn little thing. But you've always been like that, haven't you? That's not very becoming, you know. Someone so pretty shouldn't act so grumpy all the time. You'll end up with wrinkles like Gwen."

"Mother, please," Wolfram tried to stop her from going on, but she didn't seem to hear him, either that or she just chose to ignore him.

The rambunctious former queen only quieted down when the sound of hooves clapping against cobble-stones reached their ears, attracting the attention of every member of their little group and causing five pairs of eyes to look towards the tall wrought iron gates that closed off the wall surrounding Blood Pledge Castle.

Yuuri had almost forgotten that they'd been expecting anyone while he'd been absorbed in friendly bickering and amusing chatter. He'd felt relaxed and contented with all the joking and teasing, only to tense up immediately as he remembered what they were really out there for. His nervousness returned in a matter of seconds, and he lifted a hand to futilely tug at his collar again, swallowing hard as he waited for the sounds to draw closer. The conversation died immediately, almost forgotten as the last of this week's guests finally arrived in the capital, silence descending over everyone.

Greta came over to stand by her parents, smoothing out the skirt of her pale pink dress, checking to see that all traces of dirt were brushed away as she quickly made herself presentable. Conrad's smile faltered as he stood between the young human girl and his mother, his back straightening once more. Celi remained smiling, her hands clasped loosely in front of her as she fixed her emerald eyes in the direction of the approaching men, all traces of teasing gone. Wolfram uncrossed his arms and let them fall by his sides, and when Yuuri looked at him out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the blond was just as nervous as he was.

The young demon king watched as two guards - dressed in their standard gray uniforms and armor - moved to open the gates, allowing a regal looking black carriage to cross into the castle's front lawn. Yuuri felt as if his heart were trying to break out of his chest as the carriage slowed a few yards away from them, the group of brown horses coming to a stop, neighing softly as they came to the end of their long journey. There was a man sitting up front holding the reins, and a small procession of Bielefeld soldiers following behind the medieval vehicle, serving as protection from anyone who may have tried to ambush them along the way.

The black haired man took a deep breath as the middle aged man who'd steered the carriage hopped down from his perch, handing the reins to one of the guards in gray who would see to getting all of the horses into the back stables. The driver moved to the side of the carriage, not looking at any one of the assembled group as he raised a hand to open the door, pulling at the handle until the hatch swung out. He stepped back to allow those who had traveled inside to exit, bowing his head in respect for the two men that he served.

The first to step out was a man who appeared to be around Stoffel's age, and one who carried himself in much the same way. His steps were sure and confident, and he held his head up high with an arrogance that rivaled Wolfram's own. His thick sandy blond hair fell to the middle of his back, pulled out of his face and tied off by a strip of white ribbon, a few stray strands of his bangs falling over his aquamarine eyes, enticing him to brush them away with a casual flick of his hand, even more haughtily than the king's fiancé carried out that same movement.

He had a pleasant enough face, with a few age lines at the corners of his eyes and around the area of his mouth, his full lips set into a deep frown, nose straight and perfectly shaped, with a firm chin and strong jaw. He wasn't exceptionally tall, lacking a few inches on Gwendal, perhaps even shorter than Conrad, but he had a strong physique, wide shoulders and a thick chest, and big hands that were encased in a pair of white gloves. He was wearing a jacket of light, ice blue lined in ivory, his collar folded down, the gold buttons and chains of his outfit gleaming in the sunlight. His pants were white and completely spotless, black boots rising up to his knees without a trace of dirt on them, and the white cape fastened to his shoulders almost brushed against the ground.

Yuuri was deeply impressed and found himself gawking, even as turquoise eyes glanced over the group of five. "Is that your father?" the king whispered to his fiancé. They didn't look anything alike, but their posture was somewhat similar, leading Yuuri to wonder if stance was innate or if it was merely the effect of years of military training.

"No," Wolfram whispered in return, shaking his head imperceptibly, pausing as the second man began to make his exit. "_That's_ my father."

This man was a little taller than the first, and he was leaner as well, built like Yuuri's brown haired guardian. His uniform jacket was of a deeper blue, navy instead of icy, darker even than Wolfram's cerulean, and the lining on it was black instead of white or gold. Where the other man - Auberon, he assumed - was lacking a weapon of any kind, the blond demon's father had a sword strapped securely by his side, the hilt decorated with sapphire jewels that sparkled beautifully. He wore white pants and dark boots like his brother, but was missing the gloves and flowing cloak, and the tie holding his shoulder length sandy hair back was black.

It took Yuuri a moment to break his gaze away from the man's clothes, to look closer and actually _see _him, and when he did he was shocked by the sight that met his eyes. Wolfgang was still a handsome man in his own right, and years ago, when he and Lady Celi had been married, he had probably been even more so.

Now, however, his physiognomy was marred by scars, one that trailed from his right temple all the way down to his jaw line, another cutting diagonally along his left cheek, and then a third near his left temple that was dreadfully close to his eye. He was frowning as well, though not in distaste as his brother was, but warily, as if he were tired, not from the journey they'd just completed, but by something else.

Yuuri had seen people with scars before, plenty of times. There was the one that cut through Conrad's eyebrow, plus the countless others the king's guardian had along his torso. Then there was the one that almost covered the entire left side of Hube's face, half hidden by an eye patch, that Sir Griesela had received during a misadventure with one of the four boxes. Yuuri himself even had a few, one his left elbow from a fall as a child, and on his right knee from where he'd had to get stitches in Junior High. But all of those were different than the one's Wolfram's father possessed. His were almost haunting, a reminder of all the numerous battles he'd surely been in.

He didn't appear very old. He had no wrinkles like Auberon, but the aura he gave off was of a person who'd lived for a long time, who had regrets that he'd yet to forgive himself for, someone who'd seen things that he'd rather forget. His pale blue-green eyes were not sharp like his brother's, nor did they contain the fire that so often danced within his son's emerald orbs. Instead, they seemed almost lifeless, dull, devoid of any laughter, like he knew little happiness. He seemed to be the sort of man who inspired pity in others, someone who's very stance showed that he'd lead a difficult life, a lasting side effect of war.

What really grabbed Yuuri's attention, however, and had him staring in wonder, was on the right side of the man's body. One sleeve of his jacket, which should have covered his right arm, was empty. The entire limb was missing, cut off at the shoulder - amputated most likely, perhaps twenty-four years ago - a far more serious injury than the scars on his face.

Yuuri didn't know what to think of it. He'd seen Conrad lose an arm before, but it had been restored to him by the Great One. Wolfgang's was gone forever, leaving him slightly handicapped and relying completely on the one arm he had left. It was difficult to process when the king had rarely seen many people so badly wounded, and it was even more difficult not the stare.

The man who'd driven the carriage successfully captured his attention for a few moments as he closed the door, then stepped foreword to introduce the two Bielefeld brothers. "Your Majesty," he began, offering the king a respectful bow. "May I present to you, His Excellency Lord Auberon von Bielefeld and Captain Wolfgang von Bielefeld."

"Your Majesty," Auberon instantly cut in, stepping towards him in greeting. "It it my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I deeply regret that we have been unable to meet until now."

"It's very nice to meet you, Lord von Bielefeld," Yuuri replied, having to force a smile as nervousness still bubbled inside him. He tried to sound as pleasant as he could, not wanting to seem like a fool. "And, please, don't feel bad for not being able to make it here times before. I understand that you may have had more important duties to attend to in the Bielefeld territory. I merely thank you for finding the time to be here presently."

"Yes, of course, Your Majesty," the older man said, aqua colored eyes trailing to Yuuri's right, peering down at Greta curiously, completely ignoring everyone else. "And who it this lovely young girl?"

Yuuri couldn't help the proud smile that crossed his face then. "My daughter, Greta."

A sandy eyebrow quirked in curiosity. "Daughter?"

The king nodded. "Wolfram and I adopted her four years ago."

"Oh, that's right," Auberon continued, "the human girl. It's very gracious of you to look after her, Your Majesty. I know men who would not be as compassionate." Even as he said this, he didn't sound very impressed. "And what a beautiful child she is. It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord von Bielefeld," Greta politely replied, giving a little curtsy.

"And she's so well mannered," the tenth Aristocrat observed. "I'm sure she's taken after you, Your Majesty, and learned from your good influence."

For some reason, Yuuri was getting some very bad vibes from the older man. He felt as if Auberon didn't mean anything he'd said so far, and had just spoken the words he assumed would get him on the king's good side. He didn't sound very sincere at all, and it was almost as if there was a hint of boredom in his voice.

"Thank you," Yuuri accepted his praise whether it was genuine or not, though his smile became a bit strained.

"I'm sure she learned nothing in the way of good manners from my nephew," von Bielefeld said, shooting a glare in Wolfram's direction. "I understand he can be quite a handful. I'm afraid his mother and older brothers have always been too lenient with the boy, and they've indulged him far beyond what is acceptable."

"'The boy' has a name," Conrad suddenly spoke up, sounding annoyed, though he refused to look at the older man.

Auberon turned to glower at the brown haired soldier. "I don't believe I asked for your input, Weller," he spat angrily, before he was turning back to the young king, adopting a look of fake apology. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I would like to be able to speak with you longer, but there are things I must discuss with Lord von Voltaire and the others."

"I understand," Yuuri replied, frowning now. He didn't very much like this man, and was relieved to watch him begin walking towards the front steps.

Auberon stopped when he crossed paths with his blond nephew, who looked up at him defiantly, emerald eyes glaring darkly in apparent hatred. His uncle appeared unimpressed and stared down at Wolfram as if he were nothing more than a dirty peasant. "Don't glare at me, boy," he said almost threateningly. "You're not married yet," he added, as if to remind the smaller male that he still outranked him, and even held a bit of control over him as the lord of Bielefeld.

Yuuri heard his fiancé growl softly as the older man finally made his retreat, and the king sighed lightly as he disappeared inside the castle. He looked around then to see everyone else still standing there - except the driver, who'd gone to help the guards and soldiers with the horses and carriage. The others had all been pretty much silent while he and Auberon had been chatting, with the exception of Greta's greeting and Conrad's short utterance. None of the other two had said a word, and Wolfgang had hung behind, waiting for his brother to leave before stepping foreword.

Once Lord Auberon was gone, most of the tension went with him and Lady Celi moved to loosely embrace her third husband, a warm smile tugging the corners of her rouge lips up.

"Wolf, it's so good that you've come to visit!" she said happily, leaning up to gift him with a quick, friendly kiss. "You should really come by the castle more often, darling! I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"

"It's wonderful to see you, Cecilie," he replied, allowing the blonde woman to cling to him for a moment. "You're as beautiful as ever, exactly as I remember you."

"And you're looking much better! Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," he reassured her quickly, turning to his brown haired step-son before she could ask him anything more. "You're looking well, Conrart."

"I'm getting by, sir," Conrad said in return, though he didn't seem pleased to be speaking with him.

"I'm sure your father would be very proud."

The brunet supplied no reply to that statement; the two men just looked at one another awkwardly, neither of them knowing what to say. Conrad was the first to look away, appearing uncomfortable - which was not a very common occurrence with someone who was usually so sure of himself and his abilities - and Wolfgang soon gave up trying to hold a conversation with him, facing the king and princess instead. A small smile appeared upon his face then, one that was barely noticeable, but one that took away at least a little of the weariness in his pale green eyes.

Yuuri smiled back at him, some of his nervousness ebbing away. This man surely wasn't what he'd expected him to be judging form all of the rumors he'd heard, although the last time Wolfgang had been to the castle had been many, many years ago, so there was a good possibility that he'd changed since then. Still, he seemed far more sincere than his older brother had, and he wasn't glaring, nor did he appear angry or annoyed, even if Conrad refused to warm up to him. The demon king wasn't getting any bad vibes from him, and when Wolfgang smiled gently at Greta it was actually genuine. He was reserved, aloof, but not cruel at all.

"Your Majesty, Princess," he said to the two of them, Lady Celi remaining at his side as if to support him. "I've looked foreword to meeting the both of you."

"It's nice to meet you, Captain von Bielefeld," the king replied as his daughter curtsied again. Yuuri then extended his left hand, offering it to his fiancé's father, who clasped it and shook hands with him firmly. "Lady Celi's told me a bit about you. I'm glad you could make it," he said, finding that he truly meant it.

"Yes, it's been a while since I've been to the palace," Wolfgang said in answer, sparing a moment to look up at the stone structure, as if memorizing the building all over again. When he looked back down, his smile had once more disappeared, his scarred face taking on a look of seriousness that reminded the Japanese man of Gwendal. "I apologize for my older brother's rudeness. He's never liked having to leave the estate. Travel is not something he enjoys."

"It's okay," Yuuri reassured him, confident that he could ignore the older Bielefeld if his attitude got any worse. "Some of the other Aristocrats were worse when they first got here."

Wolfgang nodded in understanding. "They're not used to being around one another. They only assemble for special occasions, otherwise they send a representative. It's been many years since they were last together in the same place."

"Not since the end of the war," Celi supplied. "The Ten Aristocrats aren't what they used to be," she sighed sadly. "They can't be objective anymore. They think more about themselves than they do the people."

"I'm sure His Majesty will find a solution to that," the navy captain said confidently, looking back at the young, dark haired king. "I've heard nothing but good things about you, Your Majesty. The tales of your successes over the last four years bring strength to our people. I'm sure that if there's anyone who can unify us, it's you."

Yuuri's blushed lightly at his praise, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his head, not really knowing what to say to that. "I'll do my best," he said at last, shifting slightly on his feet, a little nervous again, especially after hearing this man voice such great expectations. "I'm not sure if that will be enough, but I'll try my hardest."

"Wimp," he heard Wolfram mutter under his breath from beside him, reminding them that he was still present.

Wolfgang turned to his son then, and Yuuri watched as his eyes widened just slightly as they fell upon the blond haired boy, gazing dawn at him for the first time in at least a decade. Yuuri didn't know how long it had been since the two had last seen each other, but he imagined it had been quite some time. The older man's surprised reaction helped to support that idea, as Captain von Bielefeld took a step or two towards the other boy to get a better look at him, aqua eyes trailing over his slender frame. The younger male fidgeted somewhat under his gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

"Wolfram," his father began, still looking him over, noting any changes that had taken place over the years. "You've grown," he observed, and Yuuri could have sworn there was a hint of pride in his voice, though his fiancé didn't seem to notice.

"A little," Wolfram replied uncomfortably.

"Don't be so modest!" Celi cooed to her third child, coming over to stand by father and son. "The last time your father saw you, you were barely over sixty yeas old!" she reminded him. "You've grown a bit since then, though you aren't much taller. I suppose it's only natural that one of my sons end up short."

"Mother!" the golden blond haired boy complained.

She didn't pay his whining any attention, just moved to smile up at her ex-husband. "Before you arrived we were talking about when Wolfram was born. Don't you remember how small he was, darling? Both Gwendal and Conrart were much bigger babies, and they didn't cry nearly as much either. Wolfram cried about everything," she said this to Yuuri, who was smiling again in amusement.

"I don't believe he's changed much in that respect," the king said, teasing again.

"Do you _want_ me to hurt you?" his fiancé growled threateningly, eliciting a few quiet giggles from both his mother and daughter.

"Now, now, Wolfram," Celi soothed. "It wouldn't do to kill His Majesty before the wedding. For now, why don't we all go inside and get out of this sun," she suggested, fanning herself with one of her hands, then looking up at Wolfgang adoringly. "I'm sure you must be exhausted after traveling so far! Let me show you to your room, darling, so that you can get some rest before dinner."

Wolfgang nodded at that and followed Celi inside, bowing to their dark haired sovereign before turning to enter the massive palace.

Yuuri moved to follow them, the others trailing close behind, and he smiled in relief once they'd entered the castle, letting out a quiet sigh.

That hadn't gone so bad after all.

**TBC…**


	5. Se Disputer

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Five - Se Disputer - To Argue  
**

Lord Gwendal von Voltaire, eldest son of the former Demon Queen and Chief of State of the Great Demon Kingdom under the current king, frowned deeply as he entered one of the many offices of Blood Pledge Castle. The sun had now completely set behind the rolling hills in the horizon, and the evening meal had ended not even half an hour ago. The tension in the dinning room had risen even more now that all ten Aristocrats were accounted for, and he'd felt extremely lucky that a fight had yet to break loose. Everyone had spent their time glaring at one another, making it obvious that they all had issues to discuss before this wedding could be underway.

Being an Aristocrat in this day and age was not an easy task. Gwendal himself had taken over as the lord of his father's home territory at a time when the bonds between many in the council had begun to disintegrate. They were more likely to argue now than have a peaceful conversation, choosing to fight over their own problems than discuss the ones currently facing their country. Predictably it made accomplishing anything more than a little difficult. Most of them had been consumed by their greed for power, and put their own lives and interests before those of the people they served.

Gwendal feared they were slowly but surely leading the Great Demon Kingdom into ruin. Though the common man probably never saw the Aristocrat who represented them in person, all the townsfolk were very much aware of what was going on and could be counted upon to voice their displeasure should things roll further downhill. In certain ways, the disunity facing them now was more of a threat than the humans.

But von Voltaire wasn't going to let this pointless madness continue at a time when the country needed them to stay strong and make the decisions that would affect the futures of everyone. He'd scheduled a meeting this evening specifically to get the bickering out of the way so that the wedding ceremonies could continue without any sort of problem. Regardless of what each of them thought of their present king and Gwendal's own youngest half brother, the union between the two of them was a necessary step in protecting their kingdom, and he would not allow anyone to prevent it.

They could think whatever they wanted, but in the end they all had the same responsibility: make sure there was someone in place to take over after His Majesty.

The rest of the Aristocrats had already assembled in the designated meeting room arguing amongst themselves - as he saw when he entered. They'd situated their chairs around the large oval table so that they wouldn't have to sit close to those they had bad relations with, purposely segregating themselves. Günter, Mikhail, Stoffel and Odell sat in a small group at one end of the table, the three of them not speaking nearly as loudly as the others, but still getting a few words in. Marlena, Griselda, Auberon, and Winifred were gathered at the other end, each looking as annoyed as the next, like this meeting was pointless. Julius was the only one seated by himself between the two groups, occasionally glaring in Bielefeld's direction.

There were others who were present as well, though they had no part in the council, merely served as a security precaution. GegenHuber was standing to the right of the door as if guarding it, Conrart doing the same from the left. Von Spitzweg had his trusty servant, Raven, by his side, the man appearing as dark and silent as always. Wolfgang von Bielefeld was also there, located by the chair of his older brother, seeming worn out from his travels, if the barely noticeable slump of his shoulders was any indication, but the sternness of his face clearly showed that he felt the need to be there at the moment.

Gwendal would rather not have any extra persons present, but figured they didn't pose any harm, and their presence could very well prevent their respective lords from doing anything drastic to one another while the discussion was going on. Mentally preparing himself for what he knew was about to ensue, the dark haired Chief of State took his place in an empty seat at the head of the table, flanked on each side by Günter and Mikhail. It took several moments before the others managed to quiet themselves down, and when they did they all stared at him expectantly, a few of them shooting him rather annoyed glances.

"No one is leaving this room until we've all come to an agreement," he warned them, gazing at each of them in turn. "I will not have this ceremony conducted only to have half of you prevent them from getting married."

"I don't see what the fuss is about," Marlena von Grantz began in a severely contemptuous tone. "We have every right to disagree," she pointed out, earning a nod of approval from Griselda von Hassel and Winifred von Yale.

"We don't have the time nor the luxury to disagree," the gray-black haired man reminded them, receiving his own set of nods from Günter, Mikhail, and Odell. "His Majesty needs an heir, and the current Princess is not exactly suitable with her rapid human aging."

"Then have him marry a demon noble woman and produce another one," Auberon von Bielefeld said, leaning back in his chair, looking as if he thought this conversation were a complete waste of his time. "I don't care who she is as long as I don't have to be ruled by that spoiled nephew of mine."

"Brother," Wolfgang mumbled to him, trying to gain his attention, but the scarred man was ignored.

Gwendal speared the older Bielefeld with an angry glower. "If any of you had a problem with the betrothal, why wait until now to speak up? His Majesty and his fiancé have been engaged for the past four years."

"Your brother, you mean," Auberon corrected him. "Don't think that by referring to the brat as His Majesty's intended that we'd so easily forget the fact that he is your younger half brother who, upon ascending to the throne, would no doubt grant you more power than you currently possess."

"Lord von Voltaire would never use his brother as a means to gain power!" Günter spoke up in return, narrowing his own lilac eyes in disapproval. "He has achieved the position as a member of the Ten Aristocrats entirely on his own. His family chose him to lead them when the previous lord passed on."

"And who is it that has been doing a majority of the king's work?" Winifred asked, arching a grayed eyebrow suspiciously.

This time it was Mikhail who replied. "Someone must be responsible for taking care of royal matters whenever King Yuuri is away."

"And what makes Lord von Voltaire the best candidate?" Griselda wondered acidly. "Certainly any one of us would be just as useful at such things."

"Von Voltaire is the previous Demon Queen's son, and as such he is most capable of seeing to the matters of state when His Majesty is unable to," Odell explained calmly.

Auberon chuckled at that, causing all eyes to turn to him. "Favoritism rears it's ugly head."

"Excuse me?" Gwendal wondered, not understanding what the man was getting at, or what any of this nonsense about him had to do with the wedding.

"Don't you think it's strange how each of the former queen's sons have wormed their way close to the current king?" Bielefeld asked those seated around him. "Her oldest takes care of royal matters when he is away and has control over the main army. Her middle child," here he shot a glare in Conrart's direction, "has become his personal guard, even after his act of betrayal, and now her youngest wants to marry the weak bastard. So, while each of them gain power, the rest of us are left trying to keep up."

"You speak as if we are being neglected," Mikhail observed, "when that is not the case at all."

"Of course not, for you. Your younger sister is von Voltaire's childhood friend; she practically lives here, so it would do them well you keep you in their good graces. And you, von Christ," Auberon turned his gaze to the lavender haired man, "are His Majesty's royal adviser, so it makes sense that you would not be left out of the loop. Then there's Wincott who, after all the trouble with Susannah Julia in the past, it would do His Majesty well to appease."

"If you would make more of an effort to speak to the king, he would be more inclined to listen." This was said by Conrart, who took a step foreword as he spoke, as serious as he had been since the Bielefelds had come. "But you've hardly come here at all since he first arrived in this world," the brown haired soldier added.

"We shouldn't have to beg for the king's attention!" Winifred shouted harshly. "He should be the one coming to _us_, taking care of his people! Not once has he come to visit my territory, nor has he been to Hassel, nor Grantz, nor Bielefeld!"

"His Majesty has not been to Mannheim, either," Julius said coolly, eying the old woman critically, "but I understand that he has been busy and I do not hold it against him."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure seeing that his snot of a fiancé gets everything his little heart desires would keep any man busy for four whole years!"

"Wolfram has nothing to do with it!" Gwendal loudly bellowed, quickly becoming annoyed with their whining. "His Majesty has been learning the ways of our people and our culture! He was born and raised in another world and was not given the privilege of growing up here! Lord von Christ has spent the last four years educating him and preparing him for his responsibilities! A task like that cannot be accomplished over night!"

"And he can't bring his books with him?" Marlena wondered sarcastically, mocking the young king.

"He has also been on many journeys," Mikhail reminded them all. "If you'll remember, he successfully located the Demon Flute and the Demon Sword Morgif."

"Yes, yes, of course," Auberon waved one of his gloved hands dismissively. "And we also remember all the trouble he caused during those little adventures of his."

"So, as a way of showing your displeasure with His Majesty, you've decided to vote against the marriage?" Odell asked.

"We choose to vote against it because we do not believe his fiancé is worthy enough to be the Prince of the Great Demon Kingdom!" Griselda explained, huffing indignantly.

"Why?" Conrart spoke again, and all eyes turned to look at him curiously.

"Excuse me?" von Hassel asked, sneering at the half human, insulted that he would be so insolent as to question her.

"I asked you why," the brunet repeated. "If that if your belief then there must be a reason for you to feel that way."

"Because he is unfit for the position!"

"How?" Mikhail asked, obviously not thinking that was a good enough excuse. "He's been trained as a soldier and well taught in politics. I cannot think of anyone more suitable."

Auberon scoffed arrogantly at that. "A _commoner_ would be more suitable! The child is spoiled!"

"He is no longer a child," Wolfgang told his brother, seeming to be defending his son against him.

"He will only be eighty-six years old this winter! He is hardly mature enough to take on the responsibilities! Not to mention the fact that it is already apparent that His Majesty's human blood is causing him to age at a faster rate than a full blooded demon! If things continue as they are now, he won't be around as long as a normal king, and when he dies his fiancé will be left at the throne! I refuse to be ruled by a spoiled prince!"

"Brother, he is my son."

"_Your _son?" Conrart suddenly inquired, brown eyes hardening even more, angered that his ex-step father would even attempt to make that claim, seeming to forget what they had truly gathered here for as he focused on the scorn he'd held for his mother's third husband since many years ago. "You _left_ your son before he could hardly even speak! For years you didn't even come to see him! What right do you have to call yourself his father!"

Winifred snorted from Auberon's right. "And I assume you think Dunheely was any better? Did he not leave as well?"

"My father at least made an attempt to spend time with me, which is more than I can say for him!" the king's guardian went on, his voice slightly louder than usual, showing more disrespect than Gwendal could remember him capable of, proof enough that he was angry. "Why have you come back now!" he asked the one armed man vehemently. "You think you can make up for leaving him behind after all this time that you've neglected him!"

"I left for a reason, Conrart," Wolfgang tried to explain.

"What reason?" the brunet asked, though the way he said it made it obvious that he didn't think there was any reason good enough the justify what he'd done by skirting his responsibilities as a father.

"To protect him."

"Protect him?" Conrart almost snorted at him in disbelief. "Protect him from what? You?"

"That's understandable," Julius muttered from his side of the table, his arms crossed as he sneered in resentment. "There's no telling how he'd have turned out being raised by a murderer."

The room fell silent for a long moment, none of them making a sound as von Mannheim's words reached their ears. Some of the Aristocrats looked at him in shock, appalled that he would mentioned such a thing at a time like this, altering the course of the conversation away from the original subject. Others were hardly phased by it, silently agreeing with his statement from their places around the table, surreptitiously glancing at Wolfgang to see his reaction, only to see that his aqua colored eyes and scarred face were strangely blank, seeming in no way offended by Julius' accusation, like he'd become accustomed to hearing people say such things.

It was Auberon who reacted to it, the older Bielefeld sibling standing from his chair with a vicious snarl, glaring dangerously at the man who dared to insult his brother is such a way. "My brother is _not_ a murderer!"

"Then what do you call what he and his men did in Bastille? An accident?" Julius rose from his seat as well, challenging the other man.

"The Courts found him innocent!"

"The Courts were wrong," Conrart joined in again. "They have been before."

"And what would _you_ know about the trial!" Auberon questioned him, the hatred he held for the half human evident in his voice. "You were recovering from your wounds from Lutenberg when the event happened and you weren't even here when the trial took place!"

"You're right, I wasn't here," the brunet agreed to that. "I was on Earth delivering His Majesty's soul, but that doesn't mean I don't know what happened."

"You don't know why," Wolfgang finally spoke, looking at Conrart levelly, though his thoughts and emotions were still very well hidden.

"What could possibly excuse you from butchering over a dozen people!" Julius shouted, hands gripping tightly to the edge of the table, as if that was enough to prevent him form attacking the navy captain and doing the same to him. "My son is _dead_ because of you!" he accused, voice filled with resentment. "The only reason you got off is because you were once king! If it wasn't for Queen Cecilie's influence, you'd be rotting in prison right now!"

"Do you even realize what would have happened if Captain von Bielefeld hadn't done what he did?" Stoffel von Spitzweg spoke for the first time since the Aristocrats had gathered for this meeting, pushing his chair back so that he could stand to his feet as well, Raven remaining behind him. "Do you realize how dangerous it would have been to allow those men to live, how it would have affected the future of our entire kingdom?" he continued, serious and stoic as he stood up for his younger sister's ex-husband.

"Who are you to say such things, Stoffel?" von Mannheim asked, eyes burning with rage. "It was _you_ who got us into that war in the first place, forcing us into battles that we had little hope of winning."

"I don't pretend to be free of blame," the dirty blond haired man told him, purple eyes narrowed. "I understand that many of my past actions and decisions were wrong. There is blood on my hands that I can never wash off," he admitted, truthful for once, actually accepting responsibility for what he did twenty-four years ago, which earned him looks of shock from many of the room's occupants. "I have made mistakes that I have come to regret. Watching His Majesty and everything that he has done for the Great Demon Kingdom thus far, I have realized that my pride and prejudices were my down fall.

"I was as much of a traitor to our country as Adalbert von Grantz was, and I admit that I have attempted to get in His Majesty's good favor in order to return to my former position as Regent. But King Yuuri has become a better ruler than I ever was, a better king that any of you could have been. It is because of him that I am able to take responsibility for my actions, and even still he does not hold it against me. I will not pretend to be as forgiving as His Majesty, nor as understanding, but I do know this: what Captain von Bielefeld did was necessary for the future of our kingdom!"

"How?" Julius asked, his wrath not calmed in the least.

"Those men were traitors!" Günter broke in, appalled that anyone would think of them as innocent.

"So is my brother," Marlena replied, "and Stoffel just claimed that he was as equally traitorous. Perhaps we should have Wolfgang kill the two of them as well. He'd certainly be doing us a favor then."

"Those men were plotting to-"

"You don't know that for certain!" Julius cut the royal adviser off abruptly. "There was nothing to prove those claims! My son would have never turned against his kingdom. He was as loyal to us as anyone!"

"He had already killed others," Mikhail reminded him dispassionately.

"Then we should have captured them and let the courts decide what their punishment should have been!" Winifred argued. "Although, I don't suppose we can trust anyone to make the right decisions when some of us are so heavily influenced by those in power!"

"That's quite enough!" Gwendal suddenly barked from the head of the table, preventing them from saying any more, blue eyes narrowed as he glanced around the room. "We are _not_ here to discuss the courts or anything concerning Captain von Bielefeld and the incident in Bastille!"

Everyone fell silent, though Lord von Voltaire received a few glares in return for his commanding tone.

"If you wish to continue with this debate, then you may do so once we've come to a decision on he matter of His Majesty's wedding. Conrart," he turned a disapproving glance in the direction of his brown haired brother, "I would suggest that the next time you are present at one of out meetings, you keep your accusations to yourself. Need I remind you that you are _not_ a member of the Aristocrats and therefore have no say in anything that we may discuss?"

"No, brother," the brunet replied, frowning.

"Then you are hereby dismissed!"

"I understand," he said with a stiff bow. "Excuse me."

Once the soldier had made his exit, the older dark haired man turned his attention to Wolfgang, who's scarred face remained completely emotionless. "Captain von Bielefeld, I think it would be best if you would excuse yourself as well."

Wolfgang only nodded in agreement, bowing slightly also. "As you wish, Your Excellency."

The one armed man walked across the room to leave as his half human step son had, the dark eyes of Julius von Mannheim boring into his back in quiet accusation. GegenHuber, who hadn't said a single word since taking his place by the door, looked towards his enraged cousin for direction, and at the long haired man's curt nod, he departed also, softly closing the wooden door behind him.

"Now… let us continue our discussion on the topic of the king's marriage," Gwendal began again, watching as Auberon, Stoffel, and Julius slowly sat down in their seats again. "I want to know _why_ we are not in agreement, and what can be done to fix this problem"

"Force the king to marry someone else," Winifred suggested. "We do not want the Bielefeld boy."

"We do not have the time required to search for a suitable mate and conduct the necessary ceremonies," Odell said, having remained hushed during the argument that had just ended. "If we are to go to war with Cimaron within the next few weeks, it would be wise to have His Majesty marry as soon as possible."

"Come now," Griselda began with a short laugh. "You know as well as I that the king will not allow us to go to war, no matter how many times Belar threatens or attacks us."

"You're right," Gwendal agreed, nodding. "Which is why it is important that we have someone else with the authority to sign a Declaration of War."

Nine pairs of eyes moved to stare at he head of Voltaire, deciphering the meaning of his last statement, each of them coming to their own conclusions. It took a moment for anyone to speak, and when they did they sounded skeptical, looking at the stoic Chief of State warily.

"Are you saying that Wolfram would be willing to sign one?" Marlena asked, curious.

"If it should come to that, he would certainly be more inclined to do so than His Majesty."

"How can you trust him not to side with the King on the issue of this war?" Winifred queried. "The boy has feelings for him, does he not? Why would he do anything to jeopardize that?"

"It would be easier to convince Wolfram that going to war with Cimaron is the only way to stop them than it would His Majesty. He may fight it for a while, but if we were to broach the subject with him when His Majesty is not here to influence him, I'm sure he'd eventually come around, regardless of what kind of agreements he may make with the king."

"We cannot afford to go to war, Gwendal," Mikhail said, displeased with the idea. "We lost more than half our army twenty-four years ago, and that was against Cimaron on their own. They have allies now."

"As do we," von Voltaire reminded him. "Cavalcade has a large enough force to make up for what we lack, and they are more than willing to lend us their aide."

"We also have a sizable amount of human soldiers deserting their armies and coming here for safety," Günter added. "If we were to grant them amnesty in return for their support, I am sure they would agree to help us as well. The information they may provide us could very well be useful."

"How do we know that we can trust them?" Odell inquired, raising an eyebrow. "They could be spies."

"And word has spread that Belar is looking to make an alliance with Lyron of Isidore," Mikhail said. "If he were to succeed in that..." the red haired man trailed off for a second, shaking his head at the idea. "Gwendal... there is nothing we could do against a force such as that. We would be severely outnumbered, even if the rest of our allies should offer their assistance."

"Which is why we must stop Belar before he has that chance," Griselda cut in.

"But we all know the king will never choose the option of war, no matter what the threat," Gwendal said evenly. "We have been informing His Majesty of every move that Belar makes, and we have done everything exactly as he's said so far. If Cimaron and Isidore unite against us, it could very well mean the end of the demon tribe." He allowed a moment of silence for that information to sink in, watching as a few pairs of eyes looked down at the table top. "We cannot allow that to happen."

"So you _are_ using your brother," Auberon observed, though he didn't seem so displeased by that thought this time around.

"I have no intention of seeking any more power than I have now," Gwendal reassured them seriously, looking him straight in the eye. "But if I have to use my brother to ensure the safety of the kingdom, then I _will_ do so."

This was the real reason he'd wanted Conrart out of the room, and Wolfgang as well, so that neither of them would be aware of what the rest of the Aristocrats would be planning. He'd sent Hube out to make sure that both men had not remained in the area, preventing them from returning to stand outside the door and listen in. He didn't want either of them to know what was currently being discussed, since he knew Conrart would loudly object and then go inform His Majesty of all that had been spoken. Wolfgang, also, could not be completely trusted to keep his mouth shut, as he still had somewhat of a relationship with the former queen.

In truth, he and Günter had been plotting this for weeks now, and although the lavender haired man sided with their king more often than not when it came to the issue of warfare, he agreed that this was not the time to remain passive. Their resolve had firmed with the attack by Belar's men on two of their villages, and then even more so when Francia had fallen. They'd concealed their reasoning from the Sage, King, and Conrart by supporting the notion that it was imperative that there be another heir to the thrown, and had waited for the right moment to broach the subject with the Aristocrats, most of whom believed that war was the only viable option.

This sort of plotting bordered on treason, but they could think of nothing else short of sending the troops out without a declaration. They'd all tried talking to the king about the situation with Cimaron and each time they'd been ignored, or the black haired young man had refused to take action. Von Voltaire didn't like having to go behind His Majesty's back like this, as he'd grudgingly grown to like and respect the king over the years, but they all had certain responsibilities, and if Yuuri was so unwilling to do his then Gwendal would do something about it, even if it meant taking advantage of his youngest brother.

Perhaps it was true that another war would cost them greatly, but they couldn't afford to remain idle. Cimaron was a grave enemy, he would admit to that, but their forces would be able to handle them. The countries Cimaron had made pacts with so far were not as militarily adept as many others and did not possess the large forces that they'd need in order to fight in a war. He was confident that they could take Cimaron on and win; it would take a while, but with the right tactics and information they could make it out of the war with less casualties than they had twenty-four years past.

If Cimaron were able to convince Isidore to join then, everything would change.

Isidore was a large country to the east of Cimaron, and though they chose to remain neutral in most conflicts between kingdoms and races, their military was the largest in the world. Cimaron had tried to gain their assistance in the last war, but had been unsuccessful. Since then, the previous king had passed away due to illness, leaving his power hungry younger brother at the throne. They'd received word from Yozak not even a few days ago that Belar was planning on meeting with King Lyron within the next couple of months, and that Lyron himself seemed interested in what the king of Cimaron had to propose.

Gwendal could hardly imagine what it would mean for the Great Demon Kingdom should the two make an alliance. In a war such as that, they wouldn't stand a chance. The other Aristocrats knew this, Yuuri had been told what could possibly happen, and yet nothing had been done so far to rectify the situation. If they could just convince Wolfram, force him to sign the papers, then it wouldn't matter what the king did or didn't want, and they could fix things before it became too hopeless.

"I don't know about the rest of you," he began after a short period of silence, "but my loyalty lies with the Great Demon Kingdom first and foremost. I will not allow anyone to sacrifice the lives of our people, be they our enemy or our king."

One by one the Aristocrats nodded, convinced, and just like that the decision was made.

* * *

Late that same night, when the crescent moon had risen to it's highest point in the sky and the stars were twinkling brightly behind a few stray clouds, Yuuri lay awake in bed, unable to fall asleep no matter how long he kept his eyes closed. He'd been tossing and turning for the last few hours, trying to find a comfortable position, only to end up on his back, black eyes staring up at the top of the canopy in boredom, arms brought up so that his hands were pillowing his head. A heavy sigh escaped him as his thoughts flew through his mind, keeping him awake long into the night.

It had been an exhausting day, and both he and his fiancé had retired early that evening, though he supposed Wolfram's real reasons were a bit different than his own. Yuuri had simply wanted some peace and quiet, some time away from all the drama that had recently been unfolding in his life, escaping the tension that had been brought on by the gathering of the Ten Aristocrats to the sanctity of his private bed chambers. Wolfram had feigned fatigue, but Yuuri assumed the other boy had been escaping as well, getting away from the blank aqua eyes of his father, which had settled on the blond boy many times over the course of the evening.

Yuuri didn't know how to feel about his best friends father. A part of him felt sorry for the man; it was clear that he'd been through a lot and the way he'd sometimes gaze at his son made it seem as if he regretted what he'd done by leaving. The other half of the king felt nothing more than confusion, wanting to know more about Wolfgang von Bielefeld, but lacking the courage to speak up and ask anyone. Talking to the man himself was too unnerving to voice any sort of personal questions. He could never tell what the naval officer was thinking; Wolfgang hid his emotions better than anyone he'd ever met, even Gwendal, who could normally contain everything but anger and frustration. Captain von Bielefeld didn't even show that.

Wolfram seemed just as uneasy around his father as the king was, making Yuuri wonder how often they'd seen one another throughout the years, and if Wolfram even knew anything about the man who'd given him life. The blond boy hardly looked at him, much less spoke to him, and seemed to want to avoid being in his presence as much as possible, awkward and unsure of himself whenever the scarred man was around, shy in a way that Yuuri had never seen before. In all the times Wolfgang had tried to converse with his son over the day, Wolfram had only replied with less than three word answers, never looking the older Bielefeld in the eye.

Celi had tried to sooth the awkwardness as much as possible, recounting a few of the good memories she'd had with her third husband, both before, during and after their marriage, sitting close to the man at every chance she got. It made Yuuri wonder why they'd broken up in the first place. Though it was difficult to tell with Wolfgang, the dark haired king thought it was pretty obvious that the two of them still had feelings for one another, even though the captain had left and Celi had gone on to other people. Maybe it wasn't exactly love, but there was a friendship there, one that had not been broken with the end of their marriage.

Greta, also, had tried to make the situation less strained. His daughter had always been a friendly girl, and that charm and politeness didn't stop for the estranged parent of her blond haired father. She'd taken to calling him 'grandfather,' which he seemed to enjoy, if the barely noticeable sparkle in his eye was any indication. She had no problems talking to him, and even though he didn't always have a reply, he still listened as if what she said was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard, having more patients than his older brother.

But Yuuri desperately wanted to know more about the captain, wanted all of his questions answered, he just didn't know who to ask. Why did Conrad seem to hate his step-father so much? Why had Wolfgang and Celi divorced? How had the man lost his right arm? What had he been doing during the war? What had Celi and Conrad been talking about when they'd mentioned Bastille?

It made his head hurt just thinking about it all, and he inadvertently groaned in frustration, heaving another sigh as he rolled over onto his left side.

He was more than a little surprised to see a pair of emerald eyes gazing back at him in curiosity, Wolfram laying so that he was facing him on the large king-sized bed. Normally the blond would be asleep this late into the night; he could fall into dreamland faster than anyone Yuuri had ever met, and he usually stayed there for the entirety of the night hours. Waking him up once he closed his eyes was almost impossible, as was keeping him on his side of the bed. It was rare for Wolfram to be wide awake at this hour, leading Yuuri to wonder if there was anything wrong with him.

"Can't sleep?" his friend asked quietly, careful not to disturb the peacefulness brought on by the darkness.

"Yeah," he replied just as softly. "I guess I've just got too many things on my mind."

"Me, too," Wolfram nodded slowly, understanding. "Sometimes I wish things didn't have to be so hard," he admitted, scooting a little closer to the other boy, though making sure he stayed far enough away so as to not invade his personal space. "Don't you think life would be easier if we weren't royalty?"

"Are you saying you'd rather be a commoner?" Yuuri wondered, quirking an eyebrow as he lifted himself up on one of his elbows, resting the side of his face in the palm of his hand. He found it hard to imagine Wolfram working the fields and not being provided he luxuries of castle life. "I'm sorry, Wolf, but you wouldn't last a day out there."

"What's that supposed to mean? That I'm incapable of picking crops and doing simple construction work?"

"It's not always so simple, though," the young king told him, shaking his head. "You have to worry about finances and stuff, and you wouldn't have chefs to make your meals for you. You'd have to do all the cooking and cleaning on your own."

"I can cook."

Yuuri gave him a disbelieving look.

"Well... I could if I tried," Wolfram amended, sniffing indignantly. "I'm a trained soldier. I know how to get by on my own."

"But have you ever had to before? Have you ever been in that kind of situation without maids or guards or other soldiers there to help you?"

The blond was silent for a moment, glaring at him slightly, annoyed that he'd been corrected. "No," he said, frowning.

"Then how do you know you can do it?"

"Because I do," Wolfram replied, lifting his nose in the air as well as he could while lying down on his side.

Yuuri smiled at him. "You're too high maintenance for that kind of life," he said, nearly laughing at the affronted look that crossed his fiancé's face.

"And what, pray tell, makes me so 'high maintenance?'"

"All the primping and preening you do in the mornings," he explained, his statement causing pale cheeks to flush, though he could hardly see it with only the moonlight providing any illumination. "Don't think I don't know how long you sit in front of the mirror. It's almost as bad as a girl. You're like a peacock."

"What's a 'peacock?'" Wolfram asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"It's a kind of bird in my world with big, elaborate tail feathers. Sometimes the word is used to describe people who obsess over their looks."

"I don't obsess over them. There's nothing wrong with wanting to look nice," his fiancé said. "And at least I look presentable most of the times, which is more than I can say about you. You dress like a slob, and then you always wrinkle your clothes or put stains on them with your awful eating habits. Maybe Günter should have spent more time instilling some proper etiquette into you."

"Why should he waste his time when I've got you to constantly nag at me about it?" the king replied cheekily.

"I do not nag," Wolfram was quick to deny.

"Oh, yes, you do."

"I do not."

"You do, too," Yuuri insisted. "That, and you never know when to admit that you're wrong."

"I'm never wrong."

The black haired young man got a good laugh out of that, rolling so that he returned to laying on his back as he continued to chuckle, deciding not to comment on his excessive egoism. "You're really something else, you know that?" he said instead, calming himself down as the glanced up at the canopy again, his level of boredom decreasing as he found a source of amusement in his demon friend.

When Wolfram refused to answer his question, Yuuri continued to speak. "But I can understand why you'd think life as a commoner would be easy," he said. "When I first came here, I thought being king would be a peace of cake. I didn't realize how much work was actually involved. It's stressful, especially when no one listens to you because they think you're too naive or stupid."

Still Wolfram didn't say anything in reply, and when Yuuri turned his head to the side to glance at him, hoping he hadn't suddenly fallen asleep like he'd been known to do in mid-conversation before, the black haired boy was relieved to find that he was still awake. The other young man was simply staring at him, listening to him for once instead of cutting him off or trying to talk over him, giving his statement some serious thought. Yuuri wondered what was going on in his pretty blond head, frowning as he thought that it had become harder to read the emotions in his eyes since the night of their dispute.

He didn't like not knowing what his fiancé was thinking or feeling. He'd been entirely truthful in what he'd said about Wolfram being the only one who was always completely honest with him. Wolfram usually had no problems with talking about certain situations or events, and would give his opinion about things whether someone asked for it or not. When Yuuri had first become king and he'd had all those questions about the war, Adalbert, and Stoffel, Wolfram had been the only one willing to give him any answers, and had only been prevented from doing so when his older brothers had ordered him to shut his mouth.

If there was one thing that annoyed Yuuri about his three advisers and the man who'd named him, it was their tendency to leave him in the dark about the past, about things that had happened before his birth that still affected them all in the present. He wasn't asking them to tell him every little detail about the previous war and all it's battles, but it would help if he were at least a little bit knowledgeable about that period in time. Günter had practically skipped right over it in their history lessons, spouting statistics about the number of those who'd died or been injured, before going on to lecture him about something else. He hadn't known what had really happened until Gisela had told him about it after Hube had come back.

Now Wolfram was becoming just as evasive, just as tight-lipped and hush-hush as everyone else, falling silent in the middle of some of their conversations when he thought talk was going to turn to a subject that the others wouldn't want them discussing. He was becoming less forceful, ceasing their bickering when he never would have let Yuuri win before, oddly quiet when he had once been loud and troublesome. The sudden change in the blond's behavior made the demon king extremely uncomfortable, wishing Wolfram would yell at him or try to strangle him, anything to make things feel more ordinary.

"Hey, Wolf... can I ask you something?" he finally asked, growing sick and tired of being so clueless all the time. He figured the only way he'd get a straight answer now was if he voiced his curiosities, preferably when the two of them were alone so that no one was around to shush the other boy.

"What is it, wimp?" Wolfram replied, adding the taunt in there for the sake of sounding normal, when he didn't sound as arrogant and condescending as he typically did when he let that tiny affectionate insult slip into his speech. He was still laying on his side, green eyes looking up at him warily, like he knew the king was about to ask him something he didn't really want to think about, much less talk about.

"What exactly happened to your father's arm?"

The full blooded demon sighed heavily, lowering his head slightly so that he wouldn't have to look at his fiancé, frowning as he thought of the man who was supposed to be his father.

He'd never felt right calling Wolfgang von Bielefeld 'father.' The sea captain had left he and his mother long ago; he didn't have many memories of him, and the ones he had saddened him, because even when his paternal figure had dropped by the castle for a short visit, he'd always felt neglected. He'd never known what it was like to have a real father. Gwendal had often acted as a parent, perhaps to make up for what both he and Conrart had lost, but he knew that it just wasn't the same, and that he was missing something that was important in the life of a young boy.

As a child, watching Conrart leave to go off on journeys with Dan Hiri had made Wolfram infinitely jealous, not only because his Little Big Brother had been leaving him, but because the brown haired boy was so obviously loved by his human parent and was able to spend time with him. Wolfram could count the times he'd been alone with his father on one hand, and all of those occurrences had been when he'd been very small, faint memories that were almost forgotten after all this time. His father had never tried to take him with him on his boat; he'd suggested the idea once, but had never followed through with it (though Wolfram imagined he would have been sick the entire time).

He knew that although he looked like his mother, he had his father's personality, had inherited his temper, acted almost just like him... or, at least, the man he had once been. Captain von Bielefeld had changed so much over the years that the blond haired youth hardly recognized him, and felt unsure around him because of that. After the last war and everything that had happened directly after it, his father had become reclusive, hardly seen by anyone besides the men who served under him; he spent more time on his boat than he did on land. The last time Wolfram had seen him had been after he'd been injured, when his father had been taken to the castle in order to recover, shortly before Conrart had left for Earth.

Most of what had gone on at that time was nothing more than a blur to the blond, but he could remember looking in on his father and seeing how much pain he'd been in, both of the physical and the emotional sort. Mother had been distraught for days, sitting by her third husband's bedside, holding the only hand he had left and soothing him as if they'd never divorced. It had been almost heartbreaking watching the two of them, and Wolfram had often found himself wondering what life would have been like if his father hadn't left, if his father had actually loved him enough to stay.

"He was injured during a battle at the end of the war," he said quietly, finally answering Yuuri's question. "It was after Luttenberg, in a village just a few hours from here. The wound on his arm became infected, so it had to be amputated before it could spread."

"Was it in Bastille?" the black haired young man continued to question, relieved that his fiancé had replied.

"Yes," the blond slowly nodded, long lashes fluttering over green eyes as he closed them, pulling at the sheets and blankets so that they came up further, covering his shoulders. Talking about all of this made him cold suddenly, and brought awful pictures to his mind; a battle weary Gwendal, a mother in tears, a forlorn Julia, a wounded Conrart, an enraged and betrayed Adalbert, and a half dead, armless father, a ghost of the strong, hotheaded man he used to be.

The war with the humans wasn't something he enjoyed looking back on. Certain parts, like Stoffel's insistence on battle, von Grantz's betrayal, and GegenHuber's folly he could speak of without any problems, but when it came to his family and all the things that he happened in each of their lives... those were memories he'd rather forget. He'd felt isolated back then, from his parents, from his brothers, and from the rest of the world. The feeling of helplessness had been with him constantly, causing him to curse his young age as he watched people he knew die or come back seriously injured, unable to do anything but stand by and watch. He'd been too young to fight, had been kept behind, sheltered and protected by stone walls and personal guards.

He knew very little of what had gone on out on the field, had only been told which battles they'd won and which they'd lost. The only thing he knew about Luttenberg was that Conrart and Yozak were the only survivors. The only thing he knew about GegenHuber's mistake was that it had resulted in the deaths of many, including Susannah Julia, Wolfram's tutor and Conrart's close friend. And the only thing he knew about Bastille was that his father had inevitably lost his arm, and more than a dozen traitors had been killed. Slaughtered, some said, but such information had been kept from the youngest son of the former queen.

"What happened there?" Yuuri asked anyway, unaware of how little his friend had actually been told.

"I don't know," Wolfram said, his voice small in the darkness of their bedroom. "No one ever told me. It wasn't something that people discussed, and there aren't many people who know exactly what happened, besides the fact that many men were killed. During the trial, Mother sent me to Castle Spitzweg so that I wouldn't be caught up in all the madness. She didn't let me back until after it was over. After that, my father went off, and he hasn't been to the capital since... not until now."

"Oh," was Yuuri's response, black eyes peering up again, feelings discouraged by Wolfram's answer. What the hell did he have to do to get some information around here? "So then why doesn't Conrad like him? Because of what happened there? Or is there another reason?"

"Why don't you ask _him_?" the blond wondered. "You think he'd actually tell _me_ why he hates my father?"

"I suppose not," the king said with a sigh. "But Conrad doesn't really like talking about him, and every time I ask him something he doesn't give me a straight answer. He hides too many things from me."

"So you ask me?"

"I thought you might know a little more, since you _are_ his son."

"I don't know what it means to be that man's son," Wolfram grumbled, keeping his eyes closed so that Yuuri couldn't see the hurt within them, the longing he had to be accepted by someone who was supposed to love him. "He never cared to act like my father. He cares more about the sea and his damn boat than he does about me," he explained dejectedly. "My family isn't like yours. We have too many problems to act like a real family should."

Yuuri was silent for a moment, thinking everything over, listening to the bitterness in his friend's voice as he spoke, wishing he could do something to take the hurt away, but knowing that this wasn't a problem that could be solved easily.

He was starting to feel as if he didn't really know Wolfram, like all he'd seen so far, his selfish attitude and demanding nature, was just the beginning of who the blond boy really was. Looking at him, it was easy to forget how long he'd been alive, how many years it had been since he'd been born. At nearly eighty-six, Wolfram didn't look a day over sixteen or seventeen. Sometimes he acted even younger than that, sometimes older, could be playful and childish one minute, and then mature and in charge the very next.

He looked young, too young to be in the army, too young to have gone through all that he had, too young to be expected to go along with everything now without any complaints. Now Yuuri could see that although he was an adult according to demon law, his fiancé was still very much a child, or an adolescent rather, struggling through this period in his life as best as he could, but still depending on his mother's love and his older brothers' guidance, wanting their approval and acceptance more than anything. He tried so hard to be as strong and as skilled as his two brothers, followed their lead and emulated everything that they did in the hopes that he could be like them, instead of being his own person.

Yuuri felt bad for him, wished that things could have been different, that his friend could have had a normal life, without all the hardships he'd had to face over the years. He could see just by looking at Wolfram now that the blond had a lot of insecurities, had seen them before but hadn't really thought much of them. It made him feel guilty for not even noticing, for thinking nothing of it, and for putting the boy through this when it obviously made him feel worse. Since the night the wedding had been announced, especially recently,Wolfram hadn't even tried to hide it, and let it show without thinking of holding back.

"Do you hate your father?" Yuuri suddenly inquired. He didn't know why he'd asked that besides the fact that he was curious. He knew Wolfram's relationship with his father was not something to speak of lightly, but he wanted the blond to open up to him more, wanted to know everything about him so that he wasn't so confused by his thoughts and feelings anymore.

"I don't know him enough to love or hate," Wolfram said, before he was rolling over onto his other side, hiding his face from the other young man.

"Wolf-"

"Stop, Yuuri," came the quiet demand, stopping him before he could say any more. "I'm tired. I just want to sleep."

Yuuri knew he was lying, but he didn't say anything, just fell silent again with another heavy sigh. There were still so many things he didn't know, about his fiancé, about his people, about the past, and he wondered if there would ever come a day when he found out what everyone was hiding from him, or if things would continue as they were, with them all lost in the darkness.

**TBC...**


	6. Donner

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Six - Donner - To Give  
**

Wolfram stood with the others in the Palace of the Original King, feeling ill at ease from his place beside Yuuri. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to do this. He sincerely dreaded what he knew was about to happen.

They'd all gathered for the first of the two marriage ceremonies, he and Yuuri standing together upon the platform that had once been the resting place of the four forbidden boxes, Ulrike and the Great Sage close by, while the Aristocrats formed a line before them. Everyone else, his mother and father, Conrart, Greta, and a few other people - some of the priestesses mostly - stood behind them, closer to the door of the darkened chamber than the raised dais.

Even with all the other people currently in the room, he felt completely alone. It wasn't a new feeling at all, but one he'd been carrying around for years now, longer even than the time Yuuri had spent in this world, before Julia had died and Conrart had been sent to earth, many years before the birth of his future husband. It was not something he liked to admit to anyone, even to himself, that he suffered from such an emotion. How could he when he had so many people around him, maids and guards to heed his beck and call, a mother who loved him and two older brothers who took care of him?

Sometimes he wondered over the answer to that question, and the only possible one he'd been able to come up with was that he'd been born to feel such an emotion, that his destiny was decided at his conception and he'd been fated to this sort of life. It was not something he'd have chosen on his own, if he'd been aware or given the chance to change it. He hated feeling this way, thought it made him seem weak and ungrateful. Here he was, living a life of absolute luxury and hating it, while others were out there struggling to find some means of survival.

He'd always despised this sort of life, though he'd never said so to anyone, only to Yuuri, and even the black haired boy was not completely aware of how much he'd like to make some sort of an escape. Being coddled and doted on was enjoyable for a while, but at the same time the expectations that were placed on him were almost more than he could bear. He'd spent so much of his life learning the art of magic and training to improve his swordsmanship, and for what? To fight for those who couldn't have cared less for his safety?

He supposed he should be happy to be giving it all up now, only to find that he wasn't. He knew he should be. No longer would he be expected to sacrifice himself on the battlefield, or even to protect their beloved king, a task he'd lived for and put his whole heart into for the past four years. He should be rejoicing over the fact that these things would no longer be expected of him, and although he'd spent most of his life resenting the fact that he had to protect so many people who didn't even know what he looked like, possibly didn't even know his name, now that he was faced with this wedding, this meaningless marriage, he'd give anything to go back to how things used to be.

He'd spent his the entirety of his life striving to acquire the respect his older brothers had gained effortlessly. He hadn't wanted to be thought of as Little Lord Brat, Lady Celi's Youngest, or Lord von Voltaire's Brother. He'd wanted to make a name for himself, to be known as Wolfram and not as some spoiled child who happened to live within the palace walls. He wanted others to look up to him, wanted to be treated as an equal, not as some pathetic child who threw a fit every time he didn't get his way.

He didn't want to earn that sort of dignity by simply taking on the title of Prince. He wanted to work for it, to earn it, to make it mean more than it did now.

Green eyes gazed out over the line of men and women in front of him, not glaring as was usual for him when faced with so many distrusting faces. He simply glanced over them, taking in the sight before him as if to store it in his memory, though he doubted he'd ever be able to forget this no matter how long he happened to live. Being tied to the man he loved with bonds of duty instead of affection was a memory he'd never be able to lose, for even if his mind were to lose track of the event with age, his heart would be scarred forever.

The Aristocrats starred back up at he and the king with various looks of seriousness upon their faces. It was a normal enough appearance for Gwendal and a few of the others - most of them, actually - but to see Günter behaving so severely was very disconcerting - although he knew it shouldn't be; Günter was, without a doubt, the Great Demon Kingdom's most renowned swordsman after Conrart (and it was only through the training provided to him by his father and Lord von Christ's tutelage that Weller had become so great), and Wolfram had been lucky enough to see him in action more than once before, so he was well aware of Günter's ability to lose his eccentric demeanor when the need arose.

The three Lady Aristocrats were glowering, each looking more perturbed than the last, and Lord Julius did not seem pleased that this day had come so quickly. Wolfram couldn't say he disagreed with the dark haired general, but he wished the ten nobles standing before them now would ease up at least a little, anything to make this moment, this ceremony seem less daunting. He was already nervous enough, and he knew that Yuuri had to be at least ten times more so. They could do without the Aristocrats' spite and anger.

"Your Majesty," Ulrike's soft voice broke through the silence that had descended upon the chamber, her long silver hair trailing over the floor as she slowly approached them. Wolfram watched as the king turned to face her, the younger boy's face nearly white with his nervousness, his own face in a similar state of colorlessness. "It is time."

Wolfram's heart sank at her words, and he could only continue to look at his fiancé as the double black nodded.

Whatever the Aristocrats said now would decide the course of his life from here on out. He would either continue on as Bielefeld's pawn, or sell his soul to a kingdom who knew him only as a child - and to a man who refused to love him. Either way he would not be pleased, for both paths were equally as dark and lonely. It didn't matter whether the Aristocrats chose to accept him as their prince or not; not one would think of him any differently, and his life would not change much from what it was now. His bonds to his king and country would only grow deeper, the chains surrounding him would only grow tighter.

"Aristocrats," Yuuri's voice then broke through the air, startling Wolfram with it's evenness. For someone who looked as white as a ghost with trepidation, Yuuri's voice was amazingly calm as he spoke the words he'd been told to memorize for this specific occasion, words that had been spoken by many kings and queens before him. Wolfram's own mother had recited them twice. "I present to you the man whom I wish to wed. I ask that you grant him your respect and services as you have granted them to me, and give your consent for us to be married."

Wolfram had always found this sort of ceremony to be extremely ironic. Here was the great Demon King, undoubtedly the most powerful man on the face of the planet, asking his subjects for the right to marry when all his other decisions would not have been questioned so. The Demon King could do whatever he wanted, sign whichever documents he chose no matter how it affected the economic stability of the kingdom, and send the troops to war for hardly any reason at all, and yet he could not marry whom he wished without the approval from those below him.

He knew, however, that this ceremony was a security precaution above anything else, a show of the Aristocrats' importance within the country and the king's dependence on their support, as well as a way to ensure that the kingdom did not fall into the wrong hands. When this ceremony had first been conducted long ago, it had been thought by the mazoku of that time that the King's thoughts and feelings could be blinded by love (even more so than his thirst for power), and that it was their responsibility to open his eyes to the mistakes he would surely make.

The Original King's presence as the true, supreme ruler of the land and lessened the importance of the ceremony, for if the Great One chose to allow the wedding to proceed then there was nothing the Aristocrats could do or say but go along with it. It had been believed that the Great One could see into the hearts of men anyway and could discover their true intentions, so his will had never been questioned (except, of course, with his approval of Lady Celi's second husband, in which many of the Aristocrats had wondered over the Great Ones's consent). With their all-knowing Original King no longer there with them, the duty of the Aristocrats had suddenly become even more important.

Emerald eyes strayed to his older brother, the first in the line of ten, to find sapphire eyes staring right back up at he and the young king, as serious as they'd ever been. "The territory of Voltaire supports this union," he said, firm in his decision to see this wedding through, speaking no more than necessary, though it was acceptable for the Aristocrats to add whatever else they wished to their declaration.

Next was Lord von Mannheim, who looked at the future prince from his place below the platform, and although Wolfram had no clue as to the cause of the man's hatred of the Bielefelds, his harsh feelings were directed towards him in a heated glare. "The territory of Mannheim supports this union," he recited, though it appeared as if the words had to be forced out of his mouth, and he seemed to regret saying them once they'd been heard, though he added nothing else to his statement.

Beside him was Winifred von Yale, her well-aged face pulled into a stormy glower. Wolfram didn't expect any kindness from her; he didn't expect much kindness from any one of them, and so he was a bit surprised when she repeated that which had already been said. "The territory of Yale supports this union."

Günter stood next to her, lavender hair spilling about his androgynous face. The words he spoke were to be expected. There was little Lord von Christ would do that went against his king in any way. "The territory of Christ supports this union."

His uncle Auberon followed, and Wolfram was sure the negatives would start now. No matter what incentives were offered or promises made, there was nothing that could make his father's older brother approve of him. The man had criticized him his whole life, and the blond haired boy didn't expect anything less than that now. He'd grown up with the man constantly attacking his mother with vicious insults, was used to his glares of hatred as he was used to Gwendal's looks of disapproval. Auberon would never willingly grant him the power that would lead him to outrank him; he would fight it for as long as he could, and in any way that he could.

"The territory of Bielefeld supports this union."

Wolfram's eyes widened at that, and he abruptly turned to face Yuuri, though it was rude for him to do so while the ceremony was going on. Confusion etched itself across his pale face, and when the black haired boy had nothing to say to his uncle's consent, the blond turned back to look at his oldest brother, only to see Gwendal with the same expression he'd been wearing this whole time, not surprised in the least, as he should have been.

He looked across the room when Gwendal refused to have any other form of reaction, meeting his mother's gaze, who appeared just as shocked as he felt at the moment.

What was going on? Why had Auberon agreed so easily?

It was only as he thought these questions that he realized his uncle had been the one seal his fate.

Five of the ten Aristocrats had already agreed; half was all that was needed.

"Don't make me regret my decision, boy," the elder Lord von Bielefeld added after a few tense moments of silence, speaking to Wolfram as he always did, as if he were nothing more than a little peasant boy doing his bidding, showing no amount of respect to his nephew who would very soon be crowned Prince.

Wolfram would have given anything to return with a scathing comment that would have put the older man's honor in question, but he refrained from doing so. It was tradition for the king's prospective spouse to remain silent during the ceremony, so as not to affect the decision in any way, though there wasn't much that could change it now. Had this been less important, Wolfram would have gladly spat in his face.

Lady von Grantz was beside him, the woman who had taken the place of a traitor, and though her displeasure with the king had already been made known, her words did not divert from any of those that had been spoken thus far. "The territory of Grantz supports this union."

It was at this point that the young demon noticed his second brother's look of confusion. The brown haired man stood in the back with his mother, ex-step father and Greta, but Wolfram could easily see him even from his place on the opposite side of the dim chamber. Conrart's hazel eyes were narrowed in what appeared to be deep thought, glancing over the line of men and women that separated him and Wolfram until his gaze rested on the imposing form of their older brother. There was suspicions in his light brown eyes, enough so that Wolfram's pulse began to quicken.

The acceptance only continued, leading many of those not among the Aristocrats to develop looks of surprise. Even Ulrike appeared a bit shocked by their agreement. Surely one of them would have some sort of an objection. Wolfram would admit that there were many reasons why he could possibly be prevented from earning the title of Prince. He was most certainly not the most suited out of all the nobles' children to assume the thrown.

"The territory of Wincott supports this union."

"The territory of Spitzweg supports this union."

"The territory of Karbelnikoff supports this union."

Only Hassel remained at this point, and although it was required for Lady Griselda to speak her mind, there was nothing she could do to sway the decision one way or the other. More than half of the Aristocrats had already agreed, more than half of them had given the royal couple their permission. The decision had been made. Lady von Hassel speaking now had been reduced to nothing more than a formality.

"The territory of Hassel supports this union."

Whispers broke out within the room, then, the priestesses talking quietly with one another, each of them with widened eyes, as if the Aristocrats' agreement was something uncommon, something that had not happened in many years. It was the truth, Wolfram knew, and with Hassel's permission granted he felt his heart suddenly stop within his chest, and though he'd know with his uncle's consent that the wedding could now continue, only with Griselda's statement did it all seem real.

There was nothing short of death that could prevent he and Yuuri from marrying now. Part of him was somewhat relieved; now that this was over and done with, they could continue on with the rest of the marriage - the most stressful part of the whole procedure had been completed. The rest of him was tied up in knots, his throat suddenly dry, his pulse quickening even more, so that he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He hadn't thought it would happen like this. He hadn't _wanted _it to happen like this.

He felt suddenly cold, his vision darkening around the edges as he tried to get his heavy breathing under control. He was working himself into a panic, knew he was, and yet he couldn't stop it, though he was more than aware of how irrational it was for him to react to all of this in such a way. He had agreed to this, after all. He should have expected this outcome just as much as he'd expected the opposite. Both had been equally possible. There was no way either he or Yuuri would have been able to predict the outcome.

'_Yuuri…'_

He turned to his fiancé as he thought of him, watching as the black haired boy did the same, dark eyes widening as they caught sight of him, and Wolfram thought he must have looked awful to earn the amount of worry that suddenly blossomed across the king's face right then. Seeing Yuuri as he was, concern evident in his handsome visage, fear lighting his deep black eyes, Wolfram's pulse only quickened further, and he found it more difficult to catch his breath than it rightly should have been.

What was happening to him? Why was he reacting in such a way? He'd been in numerous battles before, and though he'd never once fought in a war, he'd killed more than a handful of men in his life, had watched their blood as it'd trickled down his blade, had smelt the scent of death as it was carried upon the breeze. And yet he'd never had a reaction quite like this one, not even the first time he'd taken a life.

But then he'd never been so frightened of anything in his entire life. Funny that something so simple would be what scared him most of all.

The last thing he felt was the sensation of falling, like he suddenly couldn't keep himself upright any longer - though he knew it was ridiculous to abruptly fall over like that - and the last thing he heard before a cloud of blackness consumed him was the worry in Yuuri's voice as he called out his name.

* * *

The King of the Great Demon Kingdom stood by the side of the bed as Gisela tended to his friend, the green haired woman placing one of her pale hands over the noble boy's forehead and casting her magic in an effort to ease him back into consciousness, concern shining clearly within her own green eyes. He fidgeted nervously, having no clue as to what to do, but his desire to make sure that his friend was alright outweighed any of the anxiousness that would have otherwise kept him away from the younger looking boy.

He hadn't had much time to react to the Aristocrats' decision before he'd noticed Wolfram swaying slightly by his side, and had had even less time to ask the other young man if he were alright before the blond's eyes had rolled back into his head and he'd begun to fall. Yuuri had only had a few seconds worth of time to catch him before Wolfram collapsed to the floor entirely, and he'd called out for Gisela immediately upon feeling the dead weight within his arms. He'd been momentarily frightened, wondering what could have possibly caused his friend to faint in such a way.

"_Stress,"_ Gisela had said upon her first inspection, though Yuuri had to wonder if there was more to it that just that. The look on the other boy's face right before he'd begun to sway off balance had been nearly panic-stricken, and the way his breathing had suddenly quickened with Lady von Hassel's unexpected consent hadn't been comforting in the least.

Gisela could claim stress all she wanted, but that didn't mean Yuuri had to believe it. 'Stress' was the answer everyone always gave when they didn't really know the true reasons for a mental or emotional breakdown.

After a few moments, Wolfram's delicately close eyelids began to flutter, golden lashes brushing against pale cheeks as they moved - cheeks that were far paler than normal. The young blond groaned in discomfort, perhaps from an aching head which - Yuuri knew from experience - could possibly be a side effect from his passing out so suddenly. Yuuri had done his fair share of fainting after coming to this world, enough to know that coming out of a forced unconscious state was nothing like returning from a peaceful sleep.

The green haired medic smiled as emerald eyes finally slid open, staring up at her tiredly and with slight confusion gleaming within their depths. "It's good that you've returned to us, Your Excellency," she began good naturedly. "We were beginning to get worried."

"What happened?" he asked with a soft groan, attempting to sit up in the bed he'd been placed in inside the walls of the Original King's palace, Gisela moving to help him. Only when he was seated against the headboard with a few pillows behind his back did he notice Yuuri's presence, and the king watched the flicker of emotions that darted across his face at the moment - panic again (though not as severe as last time), more confusion, and finally shame; most likely he was ashamed of having such a reaction in front of the dark haired boy, as if such things were unacceptable.

"You fainted," Yuuri was the one who answered his question, unable to keep any of his worry from being heard in his voice. "Wolfram, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the paler boy replied, and Yuuri was sure that was meant to have been a snap, although it didn't come out that way, Wolfram's voice sounding somewhat strained.

"There's nothing to worry about, Your Majesty," Gisela reassured him as she straightened up, though her eyes remained upon the boy sitting up in the bed. "As long as His Excellency takes it easy for the remainder of the day, he'll be perfectly fine," she added, before she began moving towards the door. "I'll inform the others that he's awakened."

Yuuri nodded to her statement, but didn't turn to watch as she left the room, leaving he and Wolfram alone. Instead, his black eyes remained focused on his friend, trying to read whatever emotions he could. It was a hard task to accomplish when Wolfram refused to look him in the eye, instead staring off into space, his pale hands gripping tightly to the white sheets that had slid down his body to pool in his lap. His dress uniform had become somewhat wrinkled as he'd been carried into the room and placed in the bed, but Yuuri hardly thought that mattered at the moment, although he had a feeling that if Wolfram noticed the blond would immediately begin to try and straighten his clothing.

"Wolfram," he called his name once he was sure Gisela was no longer around, knowing their time alone together would be limited once she'd told the others of Wolfram's return to consciousness, as there would no doubt soon be a whole crowd of people in there to see if he were truly alright. "Wolfram, are you really okay?"

"Yes," the soon-to-be prince of the Great Demon Kingdom forced out, ignoring his aching head and the steady increase of the beating of his heart.

"Then what happened back there? Why did you look so-" 'Scared' is what he would have said, but Wolfram cut him off before he could speak the word, perhaps knowing that's what he was going to say and not wanting to hear it, not wanting to admit that they could feel such a thing as fear, and for something that seemed so unthreatening.

"It's nothing."

"Don't say that," Yuuri told him, determined to get him to talk, even if the words ended up being shouted in his face. Anything was better than Wolfram closing himself off. "It has to be something. Otherwise you wouldn't have-"

"You don't understand!" his friend finally raised his voice above a quiet mumble, not wanting Yuuri to mention the fact that he'd fainted or talk about the event any longer. The fact that it had even happened was embarrassing. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What wasn't?" Yuuri wondered, confused. "If it's about you passing out, it's no big deal. Gisela said you're stressed," he explained, though he still didn't believe it himself. Sure Wolfram was most likely under a great deal of stress - Yuuri knew he himself was - but he'd been stressed before, and he'd never had a reaction quite like this one.

"It's not that," Wolfram said in return, green eyes narrowing as he glared across the room, his hands still clenching the bed sheets tightly, like it could prevent him from snapping any further and shouting at the darker young man.

"Then what is it?"

It took a moment for Wolfram to answer, and when he did it wasn't what Yuuri had expected him to say. "The Aristocrats weren't supposed to agree."

Confused, the Demon King raised a dark eye brow, leaning down and in somewhat to try and get a better look at Wolfram's face. When the blond moved to turn away from him, Yuuri placed a hand upon one of his shoulders, forcing him back around. "What do you mean?" he wondered, clueless as usual, although he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as his friend's words replayed themselves in his mind. "What do you mean 'the Aristocrats weren't supposed to agree?'" he repeated his question.

"Exactly what I said," the blond said shortly.

"But…" the Japanese man trailed off for a moment, trying to make sense of his friend's statement on his own. "Wait… why? Are you…" he paused again, stuttering nervously. "Are you starting to… to regret this?"

He didn't know why, but for some reason thinking that Wolfram could possibly be having doubts about this wedding made Yuuri's heart hurt just a little. He could easily understand why Wolfram would feel that way, as he himself had been having seconds thoughts ever since he'd agreed, but thinking that Wolfram had been confident in his decision to go along with this had made it a little easier to accept. Knowing that Wolfram was as confused as he was wasn't very comforting. He wanted Wolfram to be sure in his decision. He didn't want to feel as if he were forcing the other boy into anything. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

"No!" the blond haired demon eventually denied, shaking his head so that some of his golden bangs fell into his vibrant green eyes. "I mean…" and now he was stuttering as well, unable to come up with the right words to describe what he thought and how he felt. "No…" he denied again, although he didn't sound a hundred percent sure of himself. "Yes… maybe…"

"But why?" Yuuri questioned again.

"You should already know the answer to that," Wolfram replied quietly.

The black haired man was about to ask another question, even knowing full well that to do so would result in him being snapped at, since it was obvious that Wolfram truly _did_ expect him to know the answer already. He could have said he didn't, and for a moment he thought that was the truth, but it didn't take long until it dawned on him, and he felt a little guilty for constantly forgetting Wolfram's reasoning. The blond would probably never say it again, at least not as passionately as he had the night they'd first argued about all of this, but Yuuri couldn't understand how he could possibly forget.

He opened his mouth to speak anyway, as if to make sure. "Is it because I don't-"

A slow nod was the response he received, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

'_Because I don't love you.'_

It hurt him just to think it, to know that he was putting his friend through so much, but love wasn't something he could just give out to anybody, not the kind of love Wolfram felt for him. He cared about the blond, cared about him so much it hurt sometimes - he missed him whenever he went to Earth, thought about him while he was with his other family, but then he thought of and missed everyone in this world when he was at home with his mom, dad, and older brother. Caring wasn't what Wolfram wanted, though, wasn't what he needed, and it hurt the most to know that he couldn't give him that.

A part of him wanted to. He wanted his friend to be happy, he wanted to be able to return his feelings, if only to bring a smile to his face every once in a while, if only to ease the loneliness he knew the blond felt. He wanted to be fair, wanted so badly to make things right, but he knew that he couldn't. He was too… too afraid; afraid of Wolfram, afraid of himself, afraid of what it would all mean. If he did love Wolfram, then it would mean that everything he'd ever thought, everything he'd ever believed in was wrong.

He couldn't deal with that big of a change. Not now. Not yet.

"Wolfram, if you don't want to do this…" he was finally able to speak again, though his sentence tapered off towards the end, unable to complete it. After they'd come so far, it wouldn't be right to back out of it, he knew, not when the Aristocrats had given their approval, not when they were so close, not with the kingdom at stake.

The slighter male shook his head again. "No!" he snapped, then winced, as if he hadn't meant to sound so angry. "No," he repeated, softer this time. "I've already made my decision."

"Were you hoping the Aristocrats wouldn't agree, so that… so that you wouldn't have to back out of it on your own?" Yuuri questioned him curiously, unable to deny that a small part of him had been wanting that very thing. At least then the two of them wouldn't have been responsible for whatever would have happened.

"Partially," Wolfram agreed. "A part of me wanted them to prevent it all from happening, and another part of me… another part of me wanted them to agree. But I don't know what I wanted more."

"Do you still want to marry me?"

"I've always wanted to marry you."

Yuuri smiled, but it was a sad smile. It was amazing, he thought, how Wolfram never wanted to give up, no matter what happened, no matter how many obstacles stood in his way. It was comforting in a way, to know that Wolfram would always be there with him, whether he wanted him there or not. "That's a lie," he teased lightly, trying to lighten the mood, not wanting to see Wolfram so upset anymore. "You hated me when we first met."

"And you hated me, so I guess we're even."

The king's smile faltered at that, saddened by his words, his hand remaining against Wolfram's shoulder. "I never hated you," he said, looking back on that time in his life. He hadn't liked the blond very much back then, had found his attitude somewhat annoying, but he'd never hated him. He couldn't have even if he'd tried. "I… I think I was jealous of you."

Curiously, Wolfram turned slightly to look up at him, confusion shining within emerald eyes, a thin golden brow raised in curiosity. "Why would you have been jealous?" he asked, not understanding what he could have that the demon king didn't or couldn't.

"Because you were never afraid of anything. You never gave up without a fight and… you knew who you were and what you believed in, and you stuck by it no matter what," Yuuri told him, his own eyes staring down at the bed sheets now, somewhat embarrassed to be confessing all of this, though he didn't know why he should be. It wasn't like he was admitting his undying love or anything like that. "I was a coward."

"That isn't true," the blond told him quietly, his cheeks taking on a pale pink hue. "Look at all the things you've done. No coward could have accomplished all that."

"I couldn't have done it without you and…" 'The others' is what he would have said, but he cut himself off this time, realizing that that wasn't quite true. The others had certainly been very important to him; he didn't know what would have become of him without Conrad's guidance, or Gwendal's own form of protectiveness.

It was Wolfram, though, that had been the most important, and he knew that for certain. When everyone else had been busy, when Conrad had been gone, and when no one else had understood, Wolfram had always been there to remind him that he was loved and cared for, that he wasn't alone, by doing such simple things, things that had been more of an annoyance at the time but that he now looked back on with an understanding smile. A lot of times when Wolfram had called him a wimp had been to distract him from everything else that was going on, knowing that he'd retort with the much used phrase 'Don't call me a wimp,' and that everything would be forgotten in their youthful bickering.

Wolfram had been with him though everything, from the time he'd first arrived at the castle 'till the day he'd left, and from the day he'd returned until now. It was comforting, to know that all he had to do was look over his shoulder to see him there, following him everywhere, over mountains and across the seas, it didn't matter. It there was one thing he was most confident about in this world, it was Wolfram's presence. It had become so normal, so predictable, and it was reassuring.

"You're very special to me, you know," the demon king spoke softly, his own face heating up somewhat as the words tumbled from his mouth. It wasn't that he hadn't meant to say them, it was just that even confessing that much was a bit disconcerting. To know that he cared for someone on that level… it was frightening.

"I know," the future demon prince agreed, a sad little smile crossing his face again.

Yuuri lowered his hand from his friend's shoulder then, slowly reaching out to take one of his pale hands into his own, clutching it tightly, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He'd give anything in the world if, just once, Wolfram's smile actually reached his eyes.

"Promise me you won't regret this," he requested then, though he knew that no matter what Wolfram said in reply, there would always be doubts between them. There wasn't anything that could ever take those away, no matter how much time passed our how their relationship changed. Yuuri suspected that even if he did one day return the three words Wolfram had said to him on more than one occasion, the doubts would still remain.

"Only if you promise you'll never stop being such a wimp," Wolfram retorted, his attempt at returning things to normal, or as close to normal as they could possibly be.

The black haired young man smiled again, but it wasn't one of his wide, cheesy smiles at all, but a sad one, almost identical to the one Wolfram continued to wear. "I think that's a promise I can easily keep."

Pathetic, he thought, that that was the only promise he seemed capable of keeping.

* * *

Yuuri sputtered as he pushed himself out of the water, coughing a bit and lifting a hand to brush some of the liquid drops off of his face and out of his eyes, his dark bangs dripping in front of him, a stray bead hanging at the tip of his nose, falling away only seconds later.

He felt a little dizzy from the short journey, but it wasn't anything that impaired him for longer than a minute. After years of traveling between worlds by way of a churning whirlpool of water, he'd grown used to such means of transportation and no longer suffered from any unwanted side affects. Once he'd taken a few moments to collect his breath and force some air back into his lungs, the nineteen year old pushed himself to his feet, carefully stepping out of the small pool in the back yard of his house on Earth.

After coming to this world in search of the fourth and final box, his parents had kept the pool set up and filled with water for him to use to make the trip to and from the Great Demon Kingdom. It was convenient, a much better method that going through the bathtub or a sink, and preferred over being sucked into a black vortex down a toilet bowl again. The only thing he still complained about after all this time was the fact that he had to go through liquid, which left him soaked to the bone every time he resurfaced. Many times he'd contemplated forgoing clothing, and had on a few occasions, but that always brought a little more embarrassment than he felt like subjecting himself to.

Another week had gone by in the Great Demon Kingdom since the arrival of the two Bielefeld brothers, with just a few more days remaining until the evening of the wedding ceremony. Yuuri was still as nervous as he'd been every day these last three and a half weeks. He already had a swarm of butterflies flying around in his stomach, couldn't even think about the wedding without becoming queasy. Each new day brought him to another level of anticipation, his anxiousness rising with every sunrise, keeping him awake late at night and depriving him of sleep, leaving his nerves frazzled and strained.

The Aristocrats had given their blessings just the day before with a unanimous vote in Wolfram's favor. Both he and the blond demon had been exceedingly surprised by this turn of events - as had both Conrad and Celi, who'd appeared taken aback by the rather shocking ruling. They'd all expected Bielefeld and Yale to voice some sort of an objection, out of spite if they didn't have a good reason for doing so, but not a word had been spoken besides "We support this union," and all those who had gathered for the ceremony in the Palace of the Original King had been stunned to silence.

It had been the first unanimous voting amongst the Aristocrats in two hundred years.

At the King's inquiry, Gwendal had spoken of a meeting they'd had one night after dinner where he and Günter had managed to convince them of the wedding's necessity. Yuuri secretly wondered if the taller man had threatened them all in order to force them into agreement, but he figured it didn't really matter as long as things were still going according to plan. Regardless of the oddity of it, the Aristocrats' agreement would only make things easier in the end, and hopefully bring less stress to the dark haired youth. Now there was at least one less thing for him to worry about.

The remainder of their guests had been arriving one after the other over the course of the last seven days, filling the palace to maximum capacity so that almost all of the guest rooms were now currently occupied. The servants were constantly busy, rushing down the halls with sheets to clean and laundry to hang on the clothesline outside. The number of guards stationed within the castle had doubled as a safety precaution. So far, there hadn't been any problems that were life threatening, just a few minor disputes that were easily handled by those involved, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

The last people who were set to arrive were his family, all of whom he'd yet to even tell that there was going to be a wedding. He supposed it was more than a little inconsiderate of him to keep such information from them, but with how busy he'd been recently and with everything that was happening in the Great Demon Kingdom these days, it had almost completely slipped his mind. He hadn't been home at all in a little more than two months, too consumed with work and preparations to make even a short trip.

Not that he actually relished the idea of telling his family; he could only imagine what his mother's reaction would be to the news.

"Yuu-chan!"

'_Speak of the devil,'_ the young king thought with a light laugh, stepping out of the kiddy pool just as his mother burst out the back door, a large smile stretching across her pretty face at the sight of him.

With the Great One's demise had come a regularity in both time periods, so that the weeks and months that he was away passed by the same on Earth and the Great Demon Kingdom. He'd always assumed that it had been the Original King's powers that allowed time to stand still while he was attending to his duties, and although Ulrike had told him that he could just as easily do the same with the power of his own magic should the desire strike him, Yuuri found that it was easier simply to leave things as they were. Of course that meant that those in the Earthen realm were now aware of his disappearances, but his family was more than understanding.

And somehow, whether it was through maternal instinct or not, Jennifer always knew exactly when her youngest son returned, and could be counted on to be there with a warm, affectionate greeting.

"Hi, Mom," he replied to her squeal of excitement, allowing her to hug him tightly, failing to remind her that he was dripping wet since she'd never seemed to care before.

"You're just in time for dinner! I'm making curry!" she happily announced - as if it were the most spectacular dish she'd ever made and this was really a once in a lifetime occasions, when she made it at least once a week. "Go up to your room and get changed," she continued as she began to usher him inside the house. "It'll be ready by the time you come down. You have such perfect timing. I wish Papa could be more like you when it comes to getting home at a decent hour."

"Is Dad still at work?" Yuuri asked.

Jennifer sighed in exasperation, but said, "No, tonight he's actually early, which is becoming rare nowadays. He's on the couch watching the television." She pointed in the direction of the man and electronic devise in question, shaking her head at how high the volume had been turned up to.

"What about Shori?"

"On the computer."

Now it was Yuuri's turn to sigh, inwardly telling himself that he shouldn't have even had to ask. _'Twenty-four years old and he _still_ secludes himself in his room and spends all his time on his computer. I wish my life as king was that simple.'_

Quickly he trotted up the stairs, stopping only momentarily to wave and greet his father with "Hey, Dad," - the older man also not seeming very surprised to see him out of the blue. Once he'd made it to the second floor, he stuck his head into his older brother's room just long enough to announce his presence, before he was walking into his own room and stripping out of his clothes. He pulled a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt out of one of the drawers in his dresser, slipping both articles of clothing on before bringing his wet uniform down to the laundry room, where he left it on top of the drier.

Just as Jennifer had said, the table was set and the food was ready to be served when Yuuri reentered the kitchen, and his mom began to fill all four plates as they sat down in their respective seats. Here, at least, everything remained as normal as it always had been. His parents had grown used to him randomly popping up for unexpected visits, so they were not longer as surprised as they used to be when he'd suddenly rise up out of the water. Shori spent a good deal of his own time away as well, busy tending to his own set of duties, so his other brother probably didn't even notice how much time went by before they saw each other again.

The sense of normalcy he felt as the four of them began eating his mother's curry was relaxing, and it managed to help him take his mind off of his troubles as they updated him on the things that had been happening in this world since his last trip home. Nothing much seemed to have changed; things were as peaceful on Earth as he'd always remembered them being, making him almost a bit reluctant to have to return to the drama going on in the alternate world. He frowned as he thought of how easy his brother had it compared to the difficulties he was facing now, and for a second he wished he could trade places with him.

"So, how are things in the other world, Yuu-chan?" Jennifer asked when there was a slight lull in the conversation, her brown eyes sparkling with interest. "Have you been on anymore daring adventures? Saved a village from a devastating flood? Fed starving children? Rescued a damsel in distress?"

Yuuri shook his head to each of her questions, though he would have rather dealt with all of that than so much as think about marriage and the armies slowly closing in on their borders. Some sort of an adventure would have been a welcome distraction, but there were too many tasks that needed to be completed at the palace to go anywhere. Flooding really wasn't that big of an issue with summer ending and autumn leading into winter, the stormy season coming to a halt. The percentage of homeless and starving persons in their country had decreased significantly, so that widespread famine was really no longer a problem, and the closest he'd come to rescuing a damsel had been helping to work a splinter out of little Elle's hand.

Instead he had his advisers coming to him multiple times a day with information concerning Cimaron and the kingdom's Belar had signed treaties with. New intelligence was pouring in by the day thanks to both Yozak and Hube and their stunning information networks. The only thing he'd heard being discussed over the last few weeks that did not directly tie into the wedding was their problems with Cimaron. It had been mentioned so much recently that he was almost tired of hearing about it. Gwendal and the other kept informing him of Belar's every move, as if _that_ were enough to change his mind about going to battle.

There wasn't anything that could change his mind, but everyone else didn't seem to understand that. Did they not understand the word 'pacifism?'

"Things suck," he replied honestly, earning looks of concern from all who were present. "There's a lot of crap going on right now that I don't know how to deal with," he said with another deep sigh, poking at the food he suddenly had no appetite for.

"Like what?" Shori asked, curious. He having been to the Great Demon Kingdom before made him a little knowledgeable of the happenings that occurred there, so he knew that when his younger brother was upset about something concerning his kingdom then it must be big.

"Big Cimaron is stirring up a lot of trouble," Yuuri answered the older king. "Small Cimaron and Caloria are already under their control, and Francia's recently been occupied. It's all a part of their plan to destroy the demon tribe, and I don't know what to do about it."

"Francia?" Jennifer wondered, tilting her head to the side. "Is that like France?"

"No, Mom. It's a tiny country with a small military force. They didn't stand a chance against Cimaron and now they're being oppressed and made to fight against us."

"Sounds like things have become pretty dangerous," Shoma observed gravely.

"I hope you're being careful, Yuu-chan!" Jennifer told her youngest son.

"Of course," he said in return, not wanting them to worry too much about his predicament. "We've got soldiers and guards patrolling the capital and the castle halls at all times. I'm perfectly safe."

"What about Wol-chan? Greta-chan?" she continued, concerned about the granddaughter she'd met a few times when Yuuri had brought the young girl with him. "Conrad? Gwendal? That pretty man with the purple hair?"

"Yes, everyone's fine," he reassured her. "Conrad, Gwendal, and Günter can take care of themselves, Greta's got formidable protection, and Wolfram's..." he paused, thinking of his blond fiancé. "Well... no one would bother him if they wanted to stay in the land of the living."

"Yuu-chan!" his mother instantly shot him a look of disapproval. "Don't be so mean! Wol-chan's a baby doll!" she insisted, pouting slightly as she went on. "How come you didn't bring him with you? I've still got to take him shopping! I saw a few outfits the other day that would look adorable on him!"

"Mom, I really don't think he wants to play dress-up with you. Besides, he's got more important things to do back in Shin Makoku."

"You're no fun!"

"Well, I'm sorry, I just..." he sighed once again. He hadn't meant to sound mean at all; disappointing his loving mother had never been his intention, but with the amount of stress he was now under it was sometimes hard to prevent himself from sounding frustrated or annoyed. "I've just got a lot of things on my mind right now."

"Are things that bad there?" Shoma inquired. At the same time, Shori asked, "Are you at war?" with an expression on his face that said he was prepared to go and protect his little brother if that was indeed the case.

"No, we're not at war, and it's not just the problems with Cimaron that are bothering me," Yuuri answered both questions at once. "Wolfram and I..." he trailed off for a moment, his black eyes gazing down at the table top and the food still covering a third of his plate. "We're getting married," he finally said, refusing to look up and witness any of their reactions.

Silence filled the air for a couple of seconds, as if the other three members of the Shibuya household were trying to think of something to say to that.

"We know that, Yuu-chan," Jennifer eventually responded, sounding as happy as she always did. "You've been engaged for years now."

"That's right," Shoma agreed, "and you know we approve of him."

"Yes, I know, but... it's not that..." he stumbled in his speech again, mentally kicking himself for being unable to find the correct words. "We're getting married... as in, like... a few days."

Another period of silence descended upon their small group, and this time it lasted longer than the previous one. Yuuri knew better that you think they'd be against a wedding in which he and the blond haired male would be married; his parents treated Wolfram like a son of their own and Shori didn't have any problems with him. Being as dysfunctional and unique as they were, his family was a bit more open minded than most others, so the two of them being male didn't worry him so much either. It was the fact that he hadn't made them aware in a more timely manner that had him wondering what their reactions would be; that and the reasons behind the wedding.

"Yuu-chan, why didn't you tell us sooner?!" It was his mother who broke the silence again, the brown haired woman squealing in delight as she nearly began to jump up and down in her chair, filled with barely contained excitement.

"It's not something we've been planning for the last year," he told her, only now able to glance up at them. "It was only a few weeks ago that the date was announced."

"And you're getting married because...?" Leave it to Shori to get straight to the point. Sometimes the older black haired man was too perceptive for Yuuri's liking. He couldn't ever really hide anything from him.

"With everything that's going on recently, Gwendal and the others think it would be for the good of the kingdom."

"You agree with that?"

Yuuri was quiet for a moment, thinking his brother's question over. He knew that this really was the best for everyone, but he still wasn't sure how he felt about it on a personal level. "I don't see what other choice I have. It's important that I have someone to rule with and after me, regardless of what I feel."

"Or at least that's what they want you to believe," Shori said, suddenly distrusting of his sibling's demon guardians again, even though a friendship had been forged between them. "You have a choice. You don't have to go along with anything if you don't want to."

"They're not forcing me," Yuuri said with conviction. "You just don't understand."

"I've been to the other world. I know what it's like there, and I know how the demon tribe in that world think. I know that they care about you and your safety, but when it comes to their kingdom your feelings become less important. That isn't right. As their king, you should be making the decisions, not allowing them to do that for you."

"I'm not allowing them to do anything!" the younger man continued defensively. "Wolfram and I made the decision to go through with this on our own! It has nothing to do with anyone else!"

Shori eyed him critically through his glasses, disbelieving. "They seem pretty good at manipulating you."

"Shori..." their father said, disapproval clear in the tone of his voice.

"No one's manipulating me!" Yuuri replied, his eyes narrowing slightly, and in a sudden burst of uncontrolled frustration, he slammed one of his closed fists against the surface of the table. How could his brother say something like that? Was he still so protective even though Yuuri was no longer a child? Did he still hold so much distrust for the people who'd taken his younger brother away from this world?

"You said 'Gwendal and the others think it would be for the good of the kingdom.' Obviously they had some sort of an affect on your decision, otherwise it wouldn't matter what they think. It seems to me like they've got some sort of an ulterior motive."

The Demon king of the Great Demon Kingdom frowned. "You still don't trust them, even after everything that's happened?"

Shori frowned back. "It's one thing to trust, it's completely different to trust too much. Your problem is that you don't doubt anyone or their intentions, you put too much faith in people, and in the end you're just going to get hurt."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

The two young men stared at one another in silence for a long, tense moment, both pairs of black eyes narrowed in determination, each trying to get the other to agree with them. Yuuri felt a small bubble of anger begin to form inside of him, not liking the fact that his older brother would insult his friends and question their integrity. Gwendal, Günter, and the others were completely loyal; they'd never so much as think of betraying him in any way. The memory of Conrad doing so once before didn't matter in the least. The Great One had been the cause of that; Conrad wouldn't have done such a thing on his own.

"I think it's wonderful!" Jennifer gushed, smiling prettily, completely oblivious to the tension crackling throughout the room. "It's about time one of you got married, though I wish you'd told us sooner, Yuu-chan! Wol-chan and I still need to go shopping for a wedding dress! I suppose we don't have much time for that now, do we, what with the wedding in a few days and all! That's too bad! I was looking foreword to it!"

"Mom! Can you be serious for at least one second?!" Yuuri didn't mean to snap at her, not so harshly, and he immediately regretted it when he caught sight of the surprised, hurt look that flashed in her brown eyes.

With a heavy sigh he raised his hands to cover his face, slumping in his chair in defeat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout," he apologized, unable to remember the last time he'd actually yelled at his mother.

"This is really stressing you out, isn't it?" Shoma asked, setting his chopsticks down onto the table as he gazed at his second son seriously.

"Yeah," Yuuri nodded against his palms. "I'm sorry for not telling you guys sooner, and I'm sorry for acting like such a jerk, but..." _'But what?"_ he thought. _'I can't control myself? Since when have I been so... moody?'_

"It's okay," his father consoled him. "We understand."

Still, the young dark haired man couldn't say anything, couldn't even look up at them, not after the verbal altercation he'd had with Shori and the harsh way in which he'd spoken to his mother. He was ashamed of the fact that he'd let his frustrations get the better of him, and that he'd taken it out on a woman who'd shown him nothing but love. Guilt ate away at him like it had the night he'd found himself drawn into an argument with Wolfram on the exact same issue, and he began to wonder what was wrong with him that could make him start snapping at people so readily. He wasn't normally like this.

He stiffened slightly when a pair of arms comfortingly slid around him, and he lowered his hands to look up, his mother smiling back at him as she loosely embraced him. It wasn't her normal girlish, oblivious smile, not the one she wore on almost every occasion, the one that made her seem like a complete and utter airhead. It was a mother's smile, filled with forgiveness, reassurance, and unconditional love and understanding, the kind that made him remember why he put up with all her antics - because she cared about him more than anything, no matter what he said or did.

"We'll be there for you, okay?" she said sweetly, and her declaration proved soothing, calming the young man down as his anger and frustration seemed to vanish in an instant.

"Okay," he agreed, forever grateful, and he felt a smile cross his face as he lifted his own arms to hug her back. "Thank you."

* * *

"Wol-chan!"

Yuuri cringed as his mother's high pitched squeal echoed loudly throughout the air as they exited Blood Pledge Castle and began walking through the flower garden. He could barely suppress an eye roll as she skipped along to greet his fiancé enthusiastically, groaning softly at the return of her hyperactive girlishness.

He had just returned from Earth, making the trip with his parents for the first time, both of whom had begun to look around as soon as they'd arrived, intrigued by all that they saw in what was a strange, unknown place. Shori had come along as well, his second trip to the alternate world, and once they'd all dressed themselves in dry clothes and retrieved the earpieces Anissina had made for language and translation purposes, the two Shibuya brothers had become tour guides of sorts, showing their mother and father around the ground floor of the castle, slightly amused by their looks of wonder and awe. They were obviously more than impressed, and Yuuri spent a great deal of time recounting some of the history lessons he'd learned from Günter when Jennifer had asked him to tell them about the palace.

At first, he'd thought he'd end up having to show them around the whole building from top to bottom, but then Jennifer had requested to see her precious Wolfram and Yuuri couldn't very well refuse without being sent on another massive guilt trip. So he'd asked one of the maids where his fiancé was and had been directed to the garden where - upon arriving - he saw the blond mazoku sitting down for afternoon tea in the gazebo with Lady Celi, Captain von Bielefeld, Greta, Murata, and Elizabeth (who'd come just a few days ago). They appeared to be waiting for Yuuri's re-arrival, talking quietly between themselves as they enjoyed their beverages and a light snack.

At Jennifer's exclamation, Wolfram looked up from the conversation he'd been having with his childhood friend, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he stood from his chair and moved to meet the brown haired woman halfway, not even taking the time to properly excuse himself from the table. Yuuri's mother immediately pulled the blond boy into a tight hug, looking him over for the first time in a couple of years, completely disregarding what kind of first impression she was making in front of the future in-laws. She rained kisses all over his face, her enthusiasm taking him aback slightly, and it didn't seem as if she would be releasing him from her clutches any time soon.

"Look at you! You haven't changed at all!" she observed, her brown eyes scanning over him, searching for any noticeable differences. "You're still so tiny! I hope you're eating properly!"

"I'm fine, Mother, really," he replied, seemingly happy to see her.

"When Yuu-chan told me about the wedding, I was so excited! I'd begun to wonder if the two of you were ever going to get married!" the Japanese woman told him, shooting a look of disapproval in the direction of her youngest son, like he was the cause of some grave injustice. "Yuu-chan, how come you never bring Wol-chan with you when you come home? We were supposed to go shopping for a dress!" she reminded him again.

"I'm sorry, Mom. It kind of slipped my mind," the black haired boy replied as he and the two less exuberant members of his family came up beside her. The truth was Yuuri just hadn't wanted to give her the opportunity to put his fiancé in a dress, which said fiancé probably wouldn't object to if 1) it was "flattering" or 2) it was Jennifer who suggested it.

His mother and Wolfram had a strange sort of relationship that the young king didn't even try to figure out, although he supposed it had something to do with his mom's fondness for juvenile cross-dressing and Wolfram's willingness to feed her addiction for boys in pink frills and matching bow ribbons. In Jennifer's eyes, Wolfram could do no wrong, and she fawned over him as if he were a small child, which - surprisingly enough - didn't seem to bother the blond at all. Wolfram enjoyed the attention he received from her and didn't mind how ditzy she often times was, though with a mother like Lady Celi Yuuri supposed he had limitless experience in dealing with those sorts of things.

During the few times Yuuri had taken his fiancé with him to Earth - twice during the search for the fourth and final box, and twice more when bringing Greta to meet her other set of grandparents - Jennifer and Wolfram had grown eerily close. It was weird to see them together, to witness Wolfram's change in demeanor whenever he was around her. His face lit up every time he saw the woman and he became far less arrogant, was more accepting and understanding, more accommodating and patient, much like he was with Greta and children of a younger age. He put up with her giddiness better than Yuuri could sometimes and indulged her in the pointless chatter she often lost herself in, listening as if what she said was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard.

In return, she showered him with loving attention, which he basked in like a small boy who'd been neglected and left alone his whole life, starved for attention - though he received enough from his own mother to last him quite a few lifetimes - and would often give Yuuri looks that said "your mother likes me, so what the hell is _your_ problem?" For someone who'd started out by insulting the woman when he and Yuuri had first met, he'd come to accept her as family and seemed to honestly and wholeheartedly enjoy the time he spent in her presence. His strong, egotistical demeanor vanished completely under one of her bright smiles, leaving him looking young and carefree.

His relationship with Shoma was somewhat different, however, as Yuuri could clearly see once Jennifer released Wolfram to hop over to Greta and give her granddaughter a loving squeeze, at which point the blond turned to greet the other two Shibuyas. Although Wolfram had taken to calling Yuuri's parents 'mother' and 'father' as a way to ingratiate himself into the king's family, there was a distance between Wolfram and Shoma that did not exist where Jennifer was concerned.

Now Yuuri thought he understood why that was. Wolfram's relationship with his own father was obviously not a very close one, leaving him with little knowledge as to how to act towards men who had similar paternal roles. It wasn't as if the blond didn't like Shoma, because he respected him a great deal; there was just a cloud of awkwardness between them, one that Yuuri had seen plenty of time when Wolfgang attempted to converse with his son. Wolfram didn't know how to react around him, not like he did with those who were openly affectionate, like Jennifer and Lady Celi.

Instead of hugs and kisses, they shook hands, exchanging a smile or two and a few kind words, but not much more was said. Shori didn't give much of a greeting, just nodded to acknowledge the shorter demon, spending too much of his time looking around suspiciously, as if searching out any signs of danger. Yuuri could only roll his eyes again and jabbed him in the side with one of his elbows, silently annoyed. He'd told him that things weren't going well here, it was true, but he hadn't said anything about it being exceptionally dangerous - especially here at the castle, where security was so tight even _he_ could hardly come and go without being thoroughly questioned.

"Mom, Dad," he called to his parents, attracting their attention as he went about trying to lighten the mood. So much tension all the time was nearly enough to drive him crazy. "I'd like you to meet Wolfram's parents."

Jennifer loosened her hold on Greta as he said this, looking towards the two adults in question, completely forgetting that she had yet to embrace and cuddle Murata, whom she adored as well.

Lady Celi was the first to stand from her chair and step foreword. "Cecilie von Spitzweg," the former queen said politely, smiling happily as she introduced herself to the two remaining members of the Shibuya family that she had not yet had the pleasure of meeting, greeting Jennifer and Shoma much more appropriately that she had Yuuri and Shori.

The navy captain stood as well, extending his single had in the direction of Yuuri's father, who clasped onto it for a firm shake. "Wolfgang von Bielefeld."

"Shoma Shibuya. It's nice to meet you."

"And I'm Miko!" the brown haired woman stated. "But, please, call me Jennifer." None of them asked about the vast difference between her given name and the nickname she'd gone by since college. No one ever did.

Once the introductions had been made and they were each caught up in various conversations, four extra chairs were brought out by Doria and Lazania so the Shibuyas would have a place to sit, while Sangria prepared a cup of tea for each of them. Jennifer and Celi hit it off immediately, as Yuuri had rightly expected, sitting beside one another and trading embarrassing stories about their youngest sons, which had both the king and his fiancé blushing and complaining within minutes, while Greta and Elizabeth giggled in amusement. Shoma, Shori and Wolfgang spoke to one another amiably, though not nearly as animated as the women, and when von Bielefeld would occasionally fall silent, Murata was there to ease the awkwardness.

After an hour or so had gone by, Murata and Wolfgang excused themselves with Shoma to go and give the elder Shibuya a more extensive tour around the castle. Jennifer looked torn between going with them in order to explore and staying behind with the others and continuing her friendly conversation with Lady von Spitzweg. After a short moment's worth of thought, the brunette decided to forgo the tour for now, claiming Yuuri would take later. When they had gone and before Yuuri could make any sort of complaint about being a tour guide again, Jennifer suddenly excused herself, turning to the blond haired boy that sat to her left.

"Wol-chan, come walk around the garden with me," she requested with a pleading smile that left the demon noble with no choice but to comply.

Wolfram nodded and excused himself quickly, ignoring Yuuri's look of curiosity as he and the human woman from Earth began to stroll along the small paths that meandered throughout his mother's garden.

They traveled a ways from the gazebo, far enough so that they could no longer hear any of the conversations that passed between those remaining at the table. Occasionally Jennifer would stop to smell the various flowers, most of which were still in bloom despite the swiftly cooling temperatures. His mother's garden always seemed full of life and color, even during the cool autumn months and the cold and snowy winters.

"What this flower called, Wol-chan?" she asked him, kneeling on the ground to inhale the perfume form a patch of familiar blue fauna, the ones that seemed to be the favorite among most people.

"Conrad Stands Upon the Earth," he replied, standing beside her. "Most of the flowers in this section are the ones that Mother breeds. She named them all herself."

"Did she?" the woman looked intrigued by that, leaning in to peer at them closer. "Then what's the name of that one?" she questioned, pointing now to those of a soft blue-green color.

"Secret Gwendal."

"And this one?"

The blond blushed slightly, staring down at the yellow blossoms his mother had named after him when he'd been a little boy. "Beautiful Wolfram."

She made a soft noise of approval, standing back to her feet in order to smile at him. "That's a fitting name," she told him. "Now I know how you got to look so pretty. You're the spitting image of your mother. I wish Yuu-chan had thought to bring us here sooner. It doesn't seem right that we've only just met. But that boy..." she shook her hear slowly. "Sometimes I don't know what to do with him."

"This wedding was very sudden," he said by way of explanation. He knew that wasn't much of an excuse, since Yuuri had had the entirety of the four years they'd been engaged to bring his parents for at least a quick visit, but he felt that he had to say it anyway. As much as he wished otherwise, the marriage was nothing more than one of political convenience.

Jennifer just kept smiling at him, and although he was sure she was well aware of the circumstances, she still acted as if it were an ordinary wedding. Grabbing onto one of his hands, she began to pull him away from the flowerbed, heading towards a stone bench along the side of one of the walkways. "Sit with me," she pleaded, tugging him down into the spot beside her.

"Mother-"

"Uh uh uhh," Jennifer shook her head in mock disapproval, wagging a slender index finger before him. "You can't call both Celi and me 'mother.' That would get confusing, right? Call me 'Mama.'"

"Mama..." he said slowly, experimenting with the two short syllables. Such a name sounded strange in his ears when he'd grown so used to referring to people so formally, even his own parents.

Her smile brightened at the use of the word, if that were at all possible. "What do you think about the wedding?" she asked him nonchalantly, not taking it as seriously as everyone else, or at least that's how it appeared. Wolfram was sure she was very much aware of what was going on; Yuuri wasn't one to let anyone believe there was anything more between them than friendship, after all. Jennifer was simply trying to make the most out of the situation, a task she was amazingly good at.

Despite her cheer, however, Wolfram couldn't do much more than smile back at her sadly. "I think... it's for the best."

"Do you?"

"Of course. I understand that things aren't going very well now and that this is important. I have a responsibility that I need to fulfill."

"Hmm," she sighed through her nose, her brown eyes losing a bit of their normal sparkle. "Even so, it isn't right. You shouldn't be getting married because of that; you should marry because you love each other, otherwise it isn't going to work."

"But I _do_ love Yuuri," the demon answered, green eyes moving so that he was looking at the bed of flowers directly across from where they were sitting. He didn't feel strange at all admitting such a thing to her so candidly. There was something about the brown haired woman that made her amazingly easy to talk to. "It's just that he... I don't think that he..."

"He's so uptight about some things," Jennifer said when he was unable to voice his thoughts. "I don't know where he and his brother get that from, but they never talk to their father and me about anything personal. It's always baseball or computers or work. It's never, 'By the way, Mama, I met a pretty girl today and I'm taking her out on a date next Friday' or 'Mama, you have a granddaughter.' Do you know how long it took Yuu-chan to tell us about Greta-chan? Every time he talks about this place, it always has something to do with Cinnamon, Calorie, and France."

"Cimaron, Caloria, and Francia," he offered, a smile threatening to break out along his face again, and he wondered if she'd mispronounced the names of those countries for that exact purpose. Yuuri often complained that his mom was a complete ditz, but Wolfram had found that she wasn't as bad as the black haired young man said. She just like the keep the mood light and tensions low.

"Right," she agreed with a nod. "And every time I ask about you, he gets all embarrassed or he changes the subject real quick and I can't ever get anything out of him. He's pretty open about other things, but when it comes to his relationships with people he clams up. He'll say, 'So-and-so is nice,' or 'I trust such-and-such,' but that's it. I try to get him to talk to me about you, more than 'Yeah, Mama, Wolfram's fine. What's for dinner?' but he closes himself off before I can ask him anything else. Still, I can tell that he likes and cares about you."

Wolfram turned to peer back at her, and he knew his curiosity was showing more than he wanted it to. He didn't know what she'd meant by that, but the doubts he was always carrying around inside of him were slowly being covered up by a layer of hope. "I'm his friend," he responded, "and he's mine. Of course we care about each other."

"But you love him."

"I do," he agreed.

"And he loves you."

At this, the blond quickly shook his head. "I don't think-"

"_Don't_ think," she told him, her smile remaining on her pretty face. "Feel."

"I know... Yuuri doesn't love me."

"Has he told you that?"

"No," he shook his head again, and then rushed to add before she could say anything else, "but he hasn't told me he loves me either."

"Yuu-chan never tells anyone that he loves them," Jennifer said with another sigh, turning just slightly to stare passed all he flowers and momentarily gaze at the young king, who was still reclining in a chair within the gazebo, talking with his dark haired daughter.

"Then how am I supposed to know? How can _you_ tell what he feels?"

"Me?" she wondered, returning her gaze to him. "Well, that's all maternal instinct. I would think I'd know my son better than most other people. I know that he's confused about everything and that he's afraid that he'll end up making the wrong choice or doing something that would ruin everything for the two of you. He's especially afraid of hurting you."

"He doesn't want to hurt anyone," Wolfram pointed out. "It's not just me."

"That's true," she nodded in agreement. "If there's one thing about Yuu-chan that makes me proud, it's that he's caring and conscientious. Well, there are a lot of things he does or has done that makes me proud, but that's beside the point. The point is, it doesn't matter that he's kind and compassionate to everyone. You're still more important to him than most other people are. Maybe you can't see it, and maybe he doesn't even realize it, but I know it's true."

"I don't think-"

"Uh uh uhh," she said again, and was once more wagging one of her index fingers in front of him. "What did I say? Don't think. Feel. If you think too much, you'll confuse yourself. That's why Yuu-chan's having such a hard time. He's so busy thinking about everything that he can't let himself go and just feel."

"I don't understand," the demon youth admitted, his thin golden brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of what his fiancé's mother was saying.

"Because you're thinking," she replied in a sing-song voice, and the boy had to wonder how she could smile and seem so lighthearted when they were having such a serious discussion. "The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even heard. They must be felt with the heart," she recited knowingly. "Yuu-chan doesn't understand that yet. One day he will, and one day he'll realize how hard he's made things for himself. He needs someone like you to help him."

It was a funny thing, hope - something Wolfram felt filling him with every word she said.

He'd lost most of his hope a long time ago, when his father had left and he'd discovered that his beloved brother was part human, then further during the war when so many people had died or been maimed. He'd learned that it was best not to have any hope at all, to rid himself off it, eradicate it from his system, so that he wouldn't inevitably suffer disappointment. To hope lead to pain, deep emotional pain, the kind that stayed with you forever, the kind his mother and Conrart were so good at hiding, the kind that Wolfram had always tried unsuccessfully to run away from. There was no point in hoping when it only lead to hurt and heartache.

Four years ago, when Yuuri had come, and Wolfram had realized that some things weren't always as impossible as they seemed, hope had returned to him. Yuuri gave him the hope he hadn't ever thought he'd find again, gave him the will to dream for something more, something greater, something worthwhile. He could believe that there was more to life than duty, than hatred and violence, that peace was not some distant dream, but a real possibility.

He hoped even when he didn't want to, even though he knew there was a good chance that he'd end up being hurt, because in the end hope was all he had.

Jennifer's words fed those feelings, and Wolfram realized where Yuuri had gotten his ability to bring love and happiness to others. As much as the black haired boy complained about his mother or thought her oblivious, his kindness and compassion came from her, his ability to bring cheer into the lives of people who knew nothing but fear and sadness had been given to him from her. Yuuri could grin through hardships and make friends out of enemies because he had a mother who'd taught him how to do so through simple words and pleasant smiles. Yuuri was open-minded and willing to listen to everyone because his mother was the same way.

"Thank you, Mama," the blond said with a tiny smile, her words helping to restore some of the faith that had faltered over the last few weeks.

She simply shook her head as if it were no problem at all. "I should be thanking you for taking such good care of my Yuu-chan." She brightened then, her warm eyes sparkling. "Which reminds me..." she said, feeling around in one of her pockets. "I have something for you."

Wolfram felt his curiosity piqued and he watched her closely as she pulled out a small black box, one that didn't even take up the space of the palm of her hand. An eyebrow rose when she opened it and removed the contents within, producing a miniature piece of jewelry, a ring that glistened brightly in the fading sunlight. He couldn't tell what it was made of since the metals and minerals mined and excavated in the Great Demon Kingdom were probably different than those on Earth, but the band was made of a silver-ish material, and the three gemstones - of which the one in the middle was slightly bigger than the ones flanking it on either side - were clear and exquisitely cut.

"This was my mother's," Jennifer explained cheerfully. "It was left to me when she passed away, and I've kept it all this time. On Earth, when two people get engaged, the one who proposes gives the other a ring. Well, the woman's usually the one who receives the ring, but that doesn't really matter. That has nothing to do with why I'm giving it to you," she said. "I thought of giving it to Yuu-chan and telling him to propose to you formally, but we all know he's too shy to do something like that and he'd probably be so embarrassed...

"Anyway," she continued, trying not to get sidetracked. "I've seen the necklace Yuu-chan wears, and I remember it from when Conrad helped me get to the hospital when I was in labor. He was wearing it back then so I know your brother must have been the one to give it to him. I've never asked Yuu-chan about it, but I know that it's special to him; it makes him think about you and the others when he's at home, and it makes him feel as if he belongs here." Carefully she put the box away, but kept the ring at hand. "So I remembered this, and I wanted to give it to you, so that you'll know that you have a family on Earth, too."

"Mother..." He didn't know what to say. He didn't really care about the Earthen engagement ritual (Okay, so maybe be did, just a little, but only because it was something Yuuri was much more familiar with and a custom the king would have preformed for the bride of his choosing); the fact that she wanted him to have something of hers, something that must be very important to her, was enough to leave him speechless. Normally he wasn't one to wear jewelry, but he found himself itching to accept what was being offered, if only because it made him feel accepted. He felt special knowing that she thought of him while in her own world.

"It's 'Mama,' Wol-chan," she made sure to remind him, giggling as she grabbed hold of his left hand. "Of course, I wasn't quite sure if it would fit you, but I know that you've got tiny fingers, so I hoped..." She began to slide the ring onto his ring finger, squealing when it went on all the way. "And I was right! A perfect fit!" she exclaimed with delight, beaming at him.

"Mama, I can't take this from you," he was finally able to say, holding his hand out so that he could stare down at it, admiring how it sparkled and gleamed. His own mother would be thrilled to own such a fine piece of jewelry, but he couldn't help but feel as if he was taking something cherished and sacred away from the other woman.

"Of course you can, Wol-chan. I want you to have it. It's yours now," she stated, taking both of his hands into hers and looking him in the eye. "You wear it, and you think of me, and you remember what I said about feeling. Let your heart guide you."

Wolfram nodded, then closed his eyes as she pulled him into a tight hug. He still didn't understand some of what she'd said, but he couldn't do anything but believe her. Letting her hold him and listening to her kind voice as she spoke to him made him feel safe, and knowing that she thought of him while at her own home in a completely different world brought a warm feeling into his heart. It gave him the will to believe that everything would be okay and that nothing was ever completely hopeless, even his relationship with her son.

He could go through with this knowing that he was accepted by the people who meant the most to Yuuri, and he could continue to dream of a brighter future, when Yuuri was finally able to say the three words he wanted most to hear.

One day, surely. One day everything would turn out fine. It just had to.

**TBC...**


	7. Se Marier

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Seven - Se Marier - To Get Married  
**

Wolfram peered at the image reflected in the mirror, frowning at the face staring back at him, annoyed by the paleness of his skin. He'd always been light and fair, and was normally infinitely pleased with his exceptional beauty; a pale complexion was a sign of nobility, after all, and he took great pride in his elevated rank. There were times, however, when he despised his good looks, when no amount of preparation could make him feel good about his appearance. He disliked looking any less than perfect, especially on special occasions where he had to appear his best in order to impress others of high society.

Now was one of those time, today was one of those occasions, and he was convinced that he looked absolutely horrible. His golden hair, which had been washed, shampooed, and brushed until it shown like the rays of the afternoon sun, refused to stay in place. A few wavy locks stubbornly curled, and would not straighten out no matter how many times he ran a comb over them. His bangs were constantly falling into his eyes, tempting him to pick up a pair of sheers and chop them shorter. He only refrained from doing so because he knew it would make his blond mane look even worse than it already did.

His clothing, too, displeased him. His mother had been so excited about having the outfit made that he'd expected to have something truly extravagant, something to make him look stunning, like the prince he would soon be. Glancing at his refection now, he couldn't do anything but wrinkle his nose in distaste, fiddling with his white lace cravat anxiously, trying to fix it so he looked presentable. The style of the attire wasn't bad, he could have lived with wearing it if it had been dyed in a different hue. As it was, the color clashed horribly with his eyes, or so he told himself, while his mother claimed quite the opposite.

Then there was the problem that had most recently attracted his attention: his pallid skin, which looked even paler as he nervously prepared himself for the events of the evening. He looked ghostly white, sickly, he thought, a side effect of the impatience that was also causing his stomach to churn in much the same way it did whenever he set foot on a boat. His palms were sweaty and it was difficult to calm his erratic breathing, his knees trembling slightly as he envisioned himself in front of a crowd of people, swearing himself to the country and to a man who didn't truly love him.

He was marrying Yuuri today; the day that he'd spent years dreaming about, the day he never thought he'd actually see had finally arrived, and he was more high-strung that he'd ever been in his entire life. His heart had never pounded as harshly at it was now, he'd never been so lacking in self-confidence. In the four years that he had been engaged to the twenty-seventh Demon King, this was definitely not how he'd always imagined his wedding day would be like.

Before, he'd fancied that it would be a bright, clear spring day, with the flowers in full bloom in the gardens and the birds chirping within the trees, and he'd be happy, impatiently awaiting the moment when he'd be led into the coronation chamber to meet his future husband. Yuuri would be smiling, that large goofy smile of his that both annoyed Wolfram in it's childishness and made him want to protect the young king more. The double black would take his hand and hold it tightly throughout the ceremony, then they'd kiss, and dance with one another for the remainder of the evening.

Instead it was late summer, the very first day of September. Autumn seemed to be attempting to start early this year, as the leaves were already beginning to change to their seasonal colors of of orange, gold, and red. The sun was currently high in the sky, and there were a few birds hopping around outside, but he could find very little to be happy about. He couldn't care less if anyone came to escort him to the coronation chamber now, couldn't bear the thought of walking in there and standing up on the platform with Yuuri. He didn't want so many pairs of eyes on him when he felt so crushed. He couldn't imagine that Yuuri would be smiling, not when he was being forced into something he didn't want, the same way he'd practically been forced into the engagement.

Wolfram himself could hardly bare to look at him, for he knew that once he did he'd be reminded of how fake this whole day had become, how it was now more of an obligation than it was an act of love. He told himself that despite everything, he should remain happy anyway, that he should be staring at himself in the mirror with an accomplished smile. He was finally getting what he wanted; he'd be with Yuuri forever. His fiancé would never be with anyone else. He'd succeeded in capturing him completely.

But was this _really_ what he wanted?

He'd given a lot of thought to that question over the last four weeks, and had yet to come up with a conclusive answer. Ever since his argument with Yuuri, he'd spent the past thirty days sorting things out in his mind, debating with himself as he tried to decide if this was actually a good thing or not. It was true that he was getting half of what he wanted; he was in love with the dark haired king and desired to be with him, couldn't imagine feeling this way about anyone else. He wanted to be with Yuuri for as long as he could, wanted nothing more than to stay by his side and protect him, keep him safe from harm and help him through his problems.

But there was a price he had to pay for that, one he'd been paying all along but hadn't even realized it, one that caused him so much grief it physically hurt. He could be with Yuuri, he could marry him, love him even, but Yuuri would never have feelings for him in return. To the black haired young man, this was just another one of his obligations as king, something else he had to accept and go through with for the sake of their people. Yuuri would have never agreed to this otherwise; no one would have, except for Wolfram.

The blond had said some truly awful things during their argument the night that all of this had been announced, things that he'd been holding back his whole life, things he'd never, _ever_ meant to say out loud.

There was a part of him hidden underneath his layers of pride and arrogance that felt trapped by the kind of life he lead, caged and confined, a slave to the Great Demon Kingdom's people. He'd been told since he was very young, by his family, by other nobles, that it was his duty to serve and protect the country, and the king or queen, that his life was devoted to the Great One and the crown. His title had constantly held him back, and his responsibilities had ensnared him, kept him in this castle like the pawn that he was.

He knew that it was wrong of him to crave freedom when there were plenty of others out there who were far worse off than he was, people who would give anything to be in his position. Some looked at him enviously because his wealth and status gave him the ability to do whatever he wanted, at least in their minds. They didn't understand that being the son of a former queen and high ranking military officer could sometimes be just as bad as being a poor, homeless peasant. Despite everything he had, he was unable to achieve that which he truly wished for. His wants, his desires, had to be for the good of the people, _always_. Anything else was unimportant. Nothing else ever mattered.

When Yuuri had come along, he'd allowed himself to foolishly believe that things could be different. He hadn't liked the other boy at first, but somehow, someway, the wimp had grown on him. His need to save his honor and dignity had slowly morphed into the need to hear Yuuri laugh, to see him smile, to hold him close when he was sad and chase his fears away. For four years he'd been given something to hope for, and he'd been able to dream that one day, after they'd been together for a while, one day Yuuri would love him back, and they'd get married and he'd at least have one thing that he wanted for himself.

Then that dream had come crashing down, and he was left struggling though this nightmare he'd found himself it.

It really hadn't surprised him that Gwendal and the Sage had agreed to this; his oldest brother would do anything if it meant saving the kingdom, and the king's dark haired friend had been known to plot such things for his own mysterious purposes. The fact that Gunter had thought this was a good idea could be explained away as his responsibility to the Great Demon Kingdom; in fact, that was probably the reason everyone had agreed. Wolfram was sure Conrart wouldn't have consented under any other circumstances, and Yuuri's answer would have been a loud and forceful "no!" if the current situation hadn't been what it was.

Wolfram was the only one who really cared, the only one doing this for some other reason.

'_Why?'_ he often wondered. _'Why am I putting myself through this? I could have just as easily declined. I could have told Yuuri that I wouldn't marry him unless... unless he loved me.'_

But he _had _agreed, for the people - and because he wasn't willing to give up, not yet, no matter what Yuuri did or how many times he pushed him away. If this was what he had to do to be with him, then he would go through with it with the dim hope that the king would one day grow to love him. It didn't have the be tomorrow or the next day, or even ten years from now, just as long as there was still that possibility. If they spent enough time together, if he supported Yuuri as he had been for the past four years, then maybe all that hard work would pay off, and the dark haired boy would come to care for him just as much.

"Look at you! You look gorgeous!" his mother gushed from where she stood behind him, dressed in a slightly more elegant gown than her normal slinky attire, though still managing to show off all of her voluptuous curves.

He was currently in his mother's luxurious suite of rooms, standing before her full length mirror in all his splendor as she circled him to get a look from all angles, squealing and giggling in delight at what she thought was a rather pleasing picture of her youngest son. Greta also stood close by, occasionally smoothing out her dark, rich gown or twirling around at her grandmother's insistence, patiently awaiting the time when they would all make their way to the large room where the ceremony would take place, a beautiful smile lighting up her pretty face.

Wolfram could see his father through the looking class as well, standing still and silent by the door, nodding to a few of his ex-wife's questions but refraining from speaking any words. The golden blond haired boy was thankful that he wasn't attempting to talk to him; he wouldn't know what to do or say, how to act in front of him when he was already nervous as hell. Any more stress and he'd probably start hyperventilating. As it was, he was already dangerously close to having a another girlish fainting spell, and felt very much like lying down until the waves of nervousness ebbed away, though he didn't think they'd completely dissipate any time soon. The only thing keeping him on his feet and conscious was his stubbornness.

"I feel sick," he admitted to his over-excited mother, fiddling with his cravat yet again, his hands shaking as he went through the motion.

"You'll be fine," Cecilie told him confidently, then looked thoughtful for a moment, her head tilted to the side. "Though you do look a little pale. I hope you're not coming down with anything. Hmm..." She tapped her cheek a few times before moving to retrieve something from her vanity. "Well, we can't have you going in there looking like you've seen a ghost. Come here and let me put some powder on your face."

"Mother," he immediately began to protest, though he didn't feel as if he could put up much of a fight right now. "I am _not_ going to wear makeup."

"It'll only be a little bit, just so you don't look so white. No one will be able to tell."

When he didn't reply or make any move in her direction, the blonde haired woman put on the most demanding face she could, hands going to rest on her hips in mock anger. "Don't be so difficult. Come here," she repeated her command, smiling pleasantly when he complied. "Sit," she told him once he stood before her vanity, pushing him down into the wooden chair that sat in front of it. "Good boy."

Wolfram obediently sat still as she went about the task of brushing some of her powder onto his face, just enough to bring some color back but too little to be extremely noticeable. Once she was done and he was again staring at his reflection, he had to admit - at least to himself - that he looked much better than he had only seconds earlier, his sick paleness now concealed. Now if only it could be that easy to stop the shaking of his hands and slow the rapid beating of his heart.

"There!" Celi cooed, beaming as she happily clasped her hands together. "Now just stop looking so nervous and you'll be fine! Smile, Wolfie! You're finally getting married! You should be happy!"

"Well, I'm not," he told her, cutting her off before she could go on some long, drawn out spiel about her last wedding and how magnificent it had been. "I don't know if I can do this," he said with a sigh, silently wondering what he was letting himself get dragged into.

By the end of the day he would officially be the Prince Consort, the equivalent to a queen in rank and authority, with all the powers and duties that Yuuri had to deal with as king. He didn't really like the idea of taking the throne, knew it would only tighten the chains he'd been locked in since birth, hold him back even further and deepen his responsibilities to the people. It was not something he would have willingly agreed to had it not been for Yuuri, had he not had such strong feelings for the other boy. The burdens of king were not something he'd ever wanted to have to face.

When Yuuri and Greta passed away, Wolfram knew that the kingdom would be left to him. That was something he dreaded more than anything else. He didn't want to be left behind by the two people he cared about most in the world, nor did he want to have to deal with all the issues that would arise when they were gone. Most likely he'd have to marry a second time in order to have an heir of his own, regardless of his loyalty and faithfulness to Yuuri, his first husband. It made him ill to think that he'd one day have to wake up beside someone other than Yuuri, or have some other child take Greta's place.

It was thoughts like these that made him curse his fate, that made him think twice about his heritage and how he felt about the other race. Why did Yuuri and Greta have to have human blood? Why did _he_ have to be a demon? Why couldn't he age like they did, grow old like they did, and die when they did? He didn't want to be alone, he didn't want to let them go, knew that life would cease to have any sort of meaning when they were no longer by his side. There would be no happiness, no more joy, just days spent consumed by loneliness, waiting for the decades and centuries to pass until he would be with them again.

'_Stop thinking like that,'_ he inwardly told himself, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of his depression. _'You've still got time, and there's always a chance that Yuuri's Mazoku blood could take over one day. You shouldn't have to worry about any of that for a while yet.'_

But it didn't stop him from feeling so hopeless.

The door creaking open managed to distract him, and he turned to watch as his half-human brother stepped into the room, dressed in an outfit far more appropriate for today's ceremony that his usual tan uniform. It was odd to see the older man so dressed up. Conrart had never been one to care much for his appearance; as long as he looked decent then that was fine by him. For him to go through all he trouble of dressing in more regal looking clothing meant that it was truly a special occasion. Wolfram couldn't even remember the last time he'd worn such things.

"We should be making our way to the ceremony now," he informed them, as calm as always, though if Wolfram took the time to look hard enough, he could see a glint of uncertainly in his warm brown eyes.

Celi squealed excitedly and pulled Wolfram out of the chair, hardly giving him any time to speak before she was pushing him out of the room, Greta and his father following them out into the hallway. Gwendal was waiting out there along with the brown haired soldier, clothed in the formal garments he usually only wore when meeting with dignitaries from other countries. His expression was neutral, calm, cool and collected, like he was feeling no stress whatsoever, standing tall as he lead the way down the corridor, refraining from speaking and letting silence descend upon them.

The blond haired demon boy felt like his was walking towards his doom, green eyes staring straight ahead, refusing to look at anyone as his heart continued to beat wildly, echoing in his ears the same way the clicking of his boots resounded off the walls. He could hardly breathe, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to take in some air, his stomach twisting and churning, making him glad he hadn't eaten anything that day, knowing he would have made a mess on the floor.

He was hot and cold all at the same time, sweating in worry as a shiver made it's way down his spine, causing him to shudder noticeably, the reaction prompting Conrart to lift a hand and place it on one of his shoulders, squeezing comfortingly. Instead of shrugging it off and shooting a glare in his direction, Wolfram allowed the physical contact, secretly glad that there was at least one person who noticed his feelings of melancholy, even if it was the last person he wanted to share his fears and frustrations with. It was nice simply to feel that warmth, that caring, when no one else seemed to see how much he was hurting.

"You're going to do fine," his second brother whispered to him in reassurance.

The younger male nodded, even if he didn't quite believe him, their group stopping in front of the double doors that lead into the room where the wedding was to be held, the same room Yuuri had had his coronation ceremony in. Wolfram took a deep breath and closed his eyes as Conrart dropped his hand, trying to calm himself down enough so that he wouldn't make a fool of himself while walking up to where Yuuri was surely already waiting.

This was it. There was no turning back now.

As the doors slid open, Wolfram's heart lurched, and though he remained calm and appeared confident on the outside, there was something inside of him that was screaming, telling him to turn and run, to do something, anything to prevent himself form making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

But he remained where he was, and his heart cracked just a little bit more.

* * *

Shibuya Yuuri swallowed hard as he watched to room slowly fill to the max, a steady stream of their guests walking down the isle to bow before him, then take their seats in the chairs that had been set up so that they would not be left standing. The last time he remembered standing in front of such a large group of people was the day he'd been coronated, when Lady Celi had officially left the throne to him and he'd been crowned the king. He'd thought the crowd that had gathered then had been large, but it was nothing compared to this.

He'd spent the day pacing in his room, walking from one side to the other, peering out the windows every few seconds but not really looking at anything, the hours passing so slowly that it was as if a whole week had gone by in half a day. He hadn't slept at all the night before, his bed devoid of the other warm body that always lay beside him, his mind muddled with too many thoughts to be able to fall into the land of dreams. When he'd finally managed to tumble off to sleep, the sun had already begun to rise, and he'd been awakened not even two hours later by the early morning sounds that often accompanied castle life.

Breakfast had been served in his bed chamber, where he'd eaten with his mother, father, Shori, and Greta. The fact that he'd had a decent appetite had surprised him, and he'd been able to put away most of the food on his plate before the butterflies in his stomach had made it impossible to consume any more. He'd sat quietly and listened to his parents, older brother and daughter as they'd talked between themselves, but hadn't had anything to add to the conversation. His mom had noticed his sullen mood and tried to get him to speak up, but he'd just smiled at her before losing himself in his thoughts again.

He hadn't seen Wolfram at all since the previous morning. At first, when he'd been told that they would be separated for a whole twenty-four hours before the wedding, he'd thought that the time apart would make things a little easier for the both of them. He'd quickly found out over the course of the day that that was not the case at all. If anything, being unable to see his friend, not knowing how he was doing or if he was still okay, increased the anxiety that had already built up within him to the point of madness. He'd grown so used to having Wolfram constantly at his side, or at the very least close enough to be able to turn and see him, that he felt antsy to suddenly not have him there.

Yuuri had tried to take his mind off of everything as the hours had gone by torturously slow, only to fail miserably. Playing games with Greta only made him remembered all the times he'd stood by and watched Wolfram do the same. Spending time with his mom and dad made him wonder if Wolfram was with his own parents, perhaps trying to distract himself as well. Talking with Shori and noticing the overprotective streak he still possessed reminded the young king of Conrad, which lead to thoughts of his guardian's younger brother and how much things had changed between them.

He'd almost gone insane worrying about every little thing, from how his clothes fit to how many people would be there, to the way a lock of his hair stuck out at an odd angle to how their guests would be seated at the reception. He'd never been so insecure before, not even during the ceremony where the Aristocrats had given their approval, not at any point in the past, because even then he'd been able to fool himself into believing that it was all a dream, that this wasn't happening. Now, with his family here and his fiancé off getting ready in another part of the castle, he was finally forced to admit that his was real, that he had Wolfram were getting _married_.

Of course he'd been expecting it for the last four weeks. There was no way he'd been able to completely deny it with all the preparations taking place around him. It had simply been easy to ignore it, to imagine that all of the hustle and bustle was caused by something else, some dinner party that Lady Celi had felt like throwing to bring everyone together and brighten their spirits. It hadn't felt like a wedding until last night, when he'd been alone in bed in this world for the first time in four years, when he'd woken up to the castle full of laughter and excitement, and he'd begun to prepare himself for the ceremony.

A new uniform had been tailored for him, though it looked exactly like all the others he owned and wore almost every day that he spent in the Great Demon Kingdom. The only difference was that the fabric was slightly more expensive - imported, he'd been told - and the buttons that kept his jacket shut were pure gold, glittering brilliantly as he'd fastened each one. His black shoes were also brand new, stiff and free of scuffs, a little uncomfortable until his pacing had broken them in. He'd hidden Julia's necklace under the layers of his clothing like he always had since the night Conrad had placed it in his care, raising his hand periodically to touch it through his jacket and shirt, saying a silent prayer to anyone who was listening that everything would be okay.

Günter and Murata had come into his room as time drew closer to the start of the ceremony, sending Greta off to get dressed and wait with the other half of her large family, and Yuuri had watched her happily scamper out with a growing sense of trepidation. His lavender haired tutor had then helped fasten the blue drape around his shoulders, one of the only things really fancy and royal looking about his whole outfit. Yuuri had taken a few minutes to adjust the two golden cords that peeked out form beneath the azure fabric, his mom using a white handkerchief to rub all traces of finger prints and any stray dust off of the large ruby gemstone on his left shoulder.

She took a few seconds to marvel at it, gasping and exclaiming how beautiful it was and how wonderful and handsome he looked, before all of the rooms occupants hushed themselves as Murata stepped up with the elaborate, golden crown that he'd rarely ever worn. The Great sage had reverently lifted it and carefully placed it atop his head of raven hair. The Gem of the Dragon king (which was occasionally borrowed by Lady Celi) sparkled from it's place in the center, eliciting another series of gasps from his girlish, squealing mother, and a proud smile from his more down-to-earth father.

He'd hardly recognized himself as he'd looked into the mirror hanging on the wall, for though the clothing was familiar, the crown on his head was definitely not. Most of the time it was kept in the Treasure Vault - where Morgif and the Demon Flute were also stored - along with other valuable and sacred items. To have the crown seen by the public was a big deal, as he'd never before worn it in front of other people - had tried it on only once and hadn't touched it since. He was, however, very pleased to discover that having the object on his head made him look more like he'd always imagined a king should, and though it felt odd to wear it, it was a nice addition to what was originally not a very lavish outfit.

He hadn't had more than a couple of seconds to admire himself until he'd been ushered out of the room by Murata, leaving Günter and the rest of his family to dress and prepare themselves for the big event. His Earth friend had then proceeded to lead him towards what Yuuri had come to call the Coronation Chamber, the two of them wandering through some of the lesser used halls in order to enter through the back entrance so that the king would not be swarmed by the guest who were waiting to enter out front. The Sage had then steered him to his designated spot on the raised platform, the flowing waterfall gushing behind them.

The room had been empty when they had first arrived, save for the orchestra that had been setting up in the corner to his right, tuning their instruments and playing a few simple pieces, providing them with tranquil, soothing background music as the main doors opened and people began to make their way down the red carpeting. Yuuri gulped but forced a smile onto his face, though he hardly felt like smiling at the moment, felt more like running back to his room and locking himself in there for the rest of his life. This had to be the most nerve-wracking experience he'd ever been through, and it hadn't even really begun yet.

"Calm down, Shibuya," Murata whispered to him when he noticed the king's breathing becoming a bit irregular. He was standing to Yuuri's left, greeting people with a friendly grin and the occasional nod of his head. "There's nothing to worry about."

"That's easy for you to say," the demon king muttered, inwardly wondering how anyone could possibly be calm in such a setting. "You're not the one who's getting married."

"There isn't anything hard about it. You say a few words, stick your hand in the waterfall again, and put the crown on his head. You can't possibly mess it up."

"Messing up isn't what I'm worried about," Yuuri told him.

Slowly the room filled so that only eighteen chairs in the front row were left empty, where the Aristocrats and members of the families of the betrothed would sit. An old man in flowing white robes, the priest who would be officiating, walked in as soon as all the guests were accounted for, prompting the room to fall into silence as he ascended the few steps up the dais. The gray haired man bowed to the king and Great Sage before turning to look over the people who had assembled. The tiny orchestra began a different piece of music then, the sound of the violin proving somewhat effective in calming Yuuri's swiftly beating heart, which had been thumping against his ribcage dramatically.

"Lords and Ladies," the priest began, loud enough for all to hear him, his rich voice echoing off of the walls and stone columns, drowning out the sound of the gushing water behind them. "Our beloved allies and dearest friends, we have gathered here today in the heart of our great kingdom to honor our king in this most joyous of days, and to celebrate the union between His Majesty, King Yuuri Shibuya, and his fiancé, Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld. But first, I ask that you please rise and pay your respects to the council who serves you as they enter."

He made a grand sweep with both arms, motioning for those in the audience to stand to their feet. As one, the crowd of hundreds stood from their chairs, turning so that they were facing the isle, and the double doors all the way on the other side of the room opened again to allow the Aristocrats to make their grand entrance.

"Representing the territory of Hassel, Lady Griselda," the clergyman announced as the brown haired woman passed through the doorway, as conceited as ever as she made her way down the carpet in her glamorous dress of blue velvet, her pointed nose stuck high in the air, a pleased smirk stretching her lips as all eyes fell on her. She gave the obligatory curtsey once she'd come to the end of the long red rug, then slowly took her seat, smoothing out the fabric of her gown and raising a jeweled had to fix a strand of her light brown hair, which had been curled and pinned atop her head with sapphire barrettes.

"Representing the territory of Voltaire in the place of Lord Gwendal, Lord GegenHuber Griesela."

Yuuri had to smile as Hube made his way in, hearing as little Eru's voice broke through the silence of the crowd, earning a few "aww"s as he happily called out to his father, sitting with Nicola, Gisela, and Anissina in the second row, directly behind where Hube would seat himself beside Griselda. Hube himself turned to smile warmly at the small boy once he'd bowed to the king and sage, and Yuuri watched as Eru tried to escape from his mother and climb up into the lap of the dark gray haired man, whose violet clothing was far more formal than usual.

"Representing the territory of Spitzweg, Lord Stoffel."

The middle aged dirty blond haired man came in, his presence eliciting a few quiet whispers, due in part to his role in the last war and all the rumors that had spread about him as a result. Stoffel paid no heed to their commenting and went through the motion of bowing to their monarch with more respect that Lady von Hassel had. He appeared quite dignified as he sat down, smiling slightly as he looked up at the dark haired king and bespectacled sage, nodding a silent greeting as the crowd began to hush themselves, quickly turning their attention to the next person to file in.

"Representing the territory of Yale, Lady Winifred."

The lady from Yale walked in similarly to how Griselda had, causing Yuuri to roll his eyes in annoyance. He could easily say that he held no kind feelings towards that woman, though he wouldn't dream of saying so to her face. He hid his dislike behind fake smiles that he was finding increasingly difficult to conjure up. Murata had more success in that than he did when Winifred made it to the front of the room, and Yuuri took a moment to wish that he possessed his friend's superb acting abilities. It was hard to keep his real feelings hidden when the old hag refused to conceal her own.

"Representing the territory of Christ, Lord Günter."

The youthful king was becoming somewhat annoyed at this point, wishing the introductions would move a little faster, wanting this over with as soon as possible. He was tempted to ask the priest to hurry it up when his black eyes caught sight of his friend, teacher, and royal adviser, who beamed a smile his way as if this were the happiest day of his life. Yuuri had actually expected the lavender haired man to start bawling, a reaction that would not be considered abnormal where von Christ was concerned. Instead the man looked infinitely pleased, as proud as a father, like he felt as if all of the long, hard hours he'd spent educating the boy had finally paid off.

Günter was dressed in full regalia, sans the white cape that usually flowed from his shoulders, his uniform a pure, crisp white with black lining. His lilac hair had been pulled back and loosely tied by an ivory ribbon of fine silk, though is bangs still fell free, framing the androgynous features of his pale face. People gawked as he passed them by, ever impressed by the radiant beauty that was Lord Günter, women staring in admiration, men in jealousy as the king's teacher glided gracefully down the isle, bowed deeply before his beloved ruler, then sat just as nimbly.

"Representing the territory of Mannheim, Lord Julius."

Julius entered, one of the few demons Yuuri had met who had pitch black hair, only instead of having the same colored eyes that would label him a Double Black, his orbs were forest green, darker than Wolfram's by a shade or two and not nearly as wide and vibrant. The half-human king didn't know how to feel about Julius. On the one hand he was respectful and loyal to the throne, a trustworthy general with great strength and skill, but on the other... there was a part of Yuuri that believed the man to be somewhat vindictive, a man who carried around a great deal of anger, especially towards Yuuri's fiancé and the rest of the Bielefeld family.

"Representing the territory of Grantz, Lady Marlena."

It was here that Yuuri finally released a sigh of exasperation, shifting on his feet a bit as the heavy breath rustled his bangs. He spared a quick glance in Murata's direction, only to find his friend grinning back at him in amusement, not doubt enjoying all of Yuuri's various reactions. The black haired man had long since wondered if Murata found entertainment in other people's discomfort and the silent, inner torment suspense could wage on a person. The Sage was delighting in this far more than any person in their right mind should, his smile widening at the soft groan that escaped from the other boy as Marlena slowly made her way up, dragging the ceremony out longer than what was really necessary.

Why couldn't the Aristocrats enter with the other guest and save them some time?

"Representing the territory of Karbelnikoff, Lord Mikhail."

Mikhail, thankfully, did not take as long as the others had in making his way down the isle, as if noting the king's anxious state. Still, it was too slow for Yuuri's liking, and he ended up staring at the far side of the room and peering through the doors, trying to catch sight of his blond fiancé. This distance was, unfortunately, too far to be able to make anyone out clearly, and he had to struggle with himself to keep from wringing his hands together or biting at his already short, dull nails. It was frustrating just standing up there waiting, and he swore to himself that whoever thought up this sort of ceremony must have surely been a sadist.

For someone who hadn't wanted to get married in the first place - not to his best friend, not to a boy, and surely not so early in his life - waiting like this was torture. If he had to go through with this then he wanted it done quickly, so he wouldn't have the time to chicken out and embarrass both himself and Wolfram in front of their families, the Aristocrats, and everyone else who had come all the way out here.

"Representing the territory of Bielefeld, Lord Auberon."

The oldest of the Bielefeld brothers confidently strode into the room, refusing to meet anyone's gaze as he made his way to his respective seat, his arrogance only serving to further grate on Yuuri's nerves. His forced smiled had disappeared completely now, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from screaming in irritation. Again he glanced at Murata out of the corner of his eye, dark eyes glowering at his adviser as he saw that the other boy was still smirking. If Yuuri had been told it was going to end up being this ridiculously long, he would have gone and had the ceremony changed beforehand.

"Representing the territory of Wincott, Lord Odell."

'_Finally,'_ Yuuri thought, relieved. Quickly he scanned over the ten people who had just entered, tallying them up in his head and making sure that all of them really were present, not wanting to get his hopes up if there were still a few more to go. It was bad enough that he had to go through with this in the first place; having to wait just made the entire experience that much worse. The feelings of apprehension that had bubbled up inside of him four weeks ago continued to grow with each title and name that was recited, his stomach twisting up into painful knots, his heartbeat picking up and his palms starting to sweat profusely. The crown on his head was beginning to feel heavy, and his clothing and the blue drape were making him hot.

"The family of His Royal Majesty, King Yuuri," the priest announced then, causing Yuuri to perk up, his attention returning to the lengthy red carpeting. "Lord Shoma Shibuya, Lady Miko Shibuya, and the Demon King of Earth, Lord Shori Shibuya."

They looked marvelous, the king of the Great Demon Kingdom thought, watching as the three members of his Earth family came closer, their dark hair and eyes causing a few men and women to start whispering again, having never seen so many double blacks in one place before. His father and Shori were dressed almost identical to him, in black uniforms of fine, expensive fabric, with silken sashes of blue trailing from their right shoulders, crossing their chests and tying down by their left hips. The two of them seemed a little uncomfortable at having so many pairs of eyes staring at them, like they hadn't expected there would be this number of people in attendance.

But it was his mom who held his attention the longest, who he found himself staring at for more than a few seconds. He'd never seen her look so beautiful before. Miko was a pretty woman by nature, but she'd never been given the opportunity to highlight her good looks with fine clothing and sparkling gemstones. Now she seemed to be taking advantage of the fact that they were in another world, a castle, where garments of such elegance could be found in nearly every room, and she was basking in her dream of dressing up like the royalty in all of her fantasy and romance novels.

The turquoise color of her gown was very flattering, the bodice a bit more low-cut than what she normally wore and tighter than the blouses and sweaters she had at home. The skirt was long and flowing, trailing behind her slightly as she walked, satin slippers barely peeking out from beneath every time she put one foot foreword. Her brown hair had been released from it's low pony tail, tumbling to her shoulders and framing her face in loose waves, a few strands held back by a diamond barrette she had probably borrowed from Lady Celi, a matching necklace encircling her throat, gleaming in the light of the large room.

Yuuri actually had tears in his eyes as they made it to the end of the isle, smiling at each of them as they smiled up at him, his father and brother looking as proud as he'd ever seen them, and his mother looking so very lovely. She blew a kiss his way as she beamed at him, sitting in her chair with a gracefulness that was befitting of any queen. He blew a kiss back and returned her smile, remembering all the times he'd spent with her during childhood, even thinking fondly back on the days when she used to dress him up in girly clothing, laughing at the memory instead of rolling his eyes.

After coming here, meeting Wolfram, Conrad and the others, and seeing all the complications that were present in their family, he was grateful for the one he'd been born into. He loved his mother, and his father, and his brother, and although this wedding wasn't something that he really wanted, he was glad that they could be here with him. He didn't know if he'd have been able to go through with it if they hadn't. Their presence was encouraging and made everything seem a little less daunting, because even though things were changing, he knew he'd always have them.

"The family of His Majesty's fiancé," the priest was speaking again, and Yuuri straightened up, knowing that it was almost time. "The former Demon Queen, Lady Cecilie von Spitzweg; Captain of the Royal Navy, Lord Wolfgang von Bielefeld; Chief of State, Lord Gwendal von Voltaire; Captain of the Royal Infantry, Lord Conrart Weller; and the adopted daughter of His Majesty, Princess Greta."

If he hadn't been practically dying in anticipation, he probably would have been able to appreciate this moment a bit more. Ever since he'd first come to this world, he'd considered these people his second family. He'd found a maternal figure in Lady Celi, a brother in Conrad, a daughter in Greta, and even a father figure in Gwendal, who was stern and harsh but always there when he needed him. Now they really were becoming a family - a large, somewhat dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. Yuuri found comfort in that thought, thinking of it as one of the few good things this marriage would bring about, a strengthening of the bonds he had with those who were closest to him.

Cecilie looked as spectacular as she always did, one of the most beautiful women he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, considering her age. Her black gown was more appropriate for the ceremony than what she usually wore, and she had on just enough jewelry to accent both her dress and her features without seeming gaudy. Some might label her an excessively flashy woman, someone who enjoyed flaunting her assets, but Yuuri didn't think so. Celi simply knew what looked good on her, and used that to her advantage.

Captain von Bielefeld was to his ex-wife's left, one of her arms looped with his single one as the two of walked down the isle together, leading the group of five. His navy, black and white uniform was immaculate, just as it had been the day he and his older brother had arrived. Whispers began spreading through the crowd again, but just as Stoffel had when he'd made his way through, Wolfgang ignored them, focusing his attention on the priest and the two double blacks who stood on the platform instead. He showed the king the smallest of smiles as he gave his bow, and Yuuri was happy to know - or at least to believe - that Wolfram's father accepted and approved of him.

Gwendal didn't appear any different; he was wearing familiar clothes and had a half-neutral half-pleased look on his face that Yuuri was used to - not an all out smile, but the beginnings of one, which was the most he figured he was ever going to receive from the taller man. He didn't expect him to ever change, knew he'd probably always remain the serious, grumpy Chief of State he'd first laid eyes on after being thrown off of his horse in front of the palace, but at least he now knew that Gwendal did possess a softer side. The gray-black haired man had helped and supported him more times than he could remember, and had earned the king's respect and admiration.

It was Conrad who made Yuuri do a double-take, black eyes widening a bit at his guardian's appearance. He'd expected the man to attend in his khaki colored military uniform, had rarely seen the brown haired soldier in anything else and had often wondered if the man had any other outfits besides that stored in his wardrobe. Apparently he did, surprising the king as he strode in wearing a blue uniform that was a match to his younger brother's in it's cerulean color, lined in white with a thin, gold chain crossing from his left shoulder to the right side of his chest, a golden epaulet at each shoulder, black boot covering his feet instead of brown.

Yuuri hardly even recognized him, wouldn't have if his name hadn't been announced by the officiator, and if it wasn't for the warm smile on the brunet's handsome face, the one that always managed to calm Yuuri down and ease his fears. Although, the young man did cringe when Conrad bowed, disliking it when the man who'd inadvertently named him acted so formally. With everyone else it didn't really bother him - he'd grown used to it over the years - but he'd never liked it coming from Conrad, perhaps because he felt so close to the other man and had more things in common with him than he did with everyone else. The two of them could relate to one another so easily, thanks to Conrad's time spent on Earth.

Greta brought up the tail of their little procession, and instead of curtsying to her foster father as she was expected to do before others of such high rank, she quickly dashed up the few steps to throw her arms around him in a tight hug, her lips brushing against his cheek in a soft, loving kiss. When she pulled away, he marveled at her much as his mother had been doing to him when he'd been in the process of getting ready, making note of how much his little girl had grown. They weren't that far apart in age, but he'd always felt very much like her father, loved her like he would any child he could have created himself.

He watched as she descended from the platform, taking the last empty seat in the whole room, happily positioning herself beside her uncle Conrad at the end of the row. The black dress she was wearing caused her to appear very princess-like indeed. The thin straps holding it up were a little inappropriate for such a young lady, in his opinion (a thought that made him wince as he realized he probably sounded like an old-fashioned, overprotective father), but he supposed it was the desired style for teenage girls in both worlds. The silky yellow sash around her waste that tied off on her left side went wonderfully with the Beautiful Wolframs that had been strung in her curly brown hair.

"The third son of Lady Cecilie von Spitzweg, the first son of Captain Wolfgang von Bielefeld, nephew of Lords Auberon von Bielefeld and Stoffel von Spitzweg, the younger brother of Lord Gwendal von Voltaire and Captain Conrart Weller, and the fiancé of His Royal Majesty, Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld."

Yuuri had been so distracted while admiring his adopted daughter that he hadn't even realized that the moment of Wolfram's entrance had arrived. He didn't even hear the first half of the priest's long-winded introduction, but as soon as his name was called he snapped out of his daze, turning to look towards the other side of the room so quickly he was sure his brain rattled against his skull. The large double doors were being held open by Dakaskos and another guard, allowing the small figure all the way at the other end of the thick carpet to pass through the doorway.

The room feel dead silent. Not a word was spoken by any of those present, not a whisper made it's way through the crowd, the chamber so still and quiet you could have heard a pin drop if it weren't for the waterfall. The black haired king didn't even hear that. The sounds of the orchestra faded away, as did the noise caused by the gushing water. For a moment it was like he was the only person in the grand room, like everyone else had disappeared, leaving him to himself up on that platform. He didn't see Murata, or Greta, or any of his family and friends, saw nothing but red carpet, stone walls, and two opened doors, ornately carved from a thick, strong wood he didn't even try to name.

Then there was Wolfram, making his way down the isle at the same slow pace all the others had, and Yuuri felt his mouth fall open when he finally saw him. All thought escaped him as his dark eyes trailed over that familiar, slender form. Oddly enough, when he'd thought his heart would never slow it's harsh drumming, it suddenly stopped. He stood frozen, unable to turn away. He was captivated, enthralled, and a foreign emotion - one that felt strangely similar to pride and admiration - flared up within him, warming him, and it was suddenly hard to breath for a completely different reason than anxious anticipation.

He didn't have a word to describe how his best friend looked just then. He'd always known that Wolfram was more attractive that he was - had told him so a few times in the past - and his first thought upon meeting him had been how pretty he'd looked compared to other men and boys he'd seen. If he were a little taller, had longer hair, and a more curvy physique, Wolfram would look exactly like his mother, so it was only natural that people find him pleasing to look at. Today, though, it was as if he'd reached a new level of attractiveness, and Yuuri thought his fiancé was easily the most beautiful person in the room.

He looked flawless, hair neatly brushed and gleaming like a million strands of gold, curling just so to frame his china-doll face. The demon king was happy to see that the other young man was not wearing some ridiculously frilly dress, but a uniform very similar to the cerulean one he normally wore, with gold lining and a white cravat, only the material at his throat was lace instead of plain ivory fabric. The most noticeable difference, however, was the color; instead of some shade of blue, his outfit was black - the color of royalty.

Lady Cecilie looked amazing in black, but Yuuri had never stopped to think that her youngest son would look just as appealing in it. His eyes stood out more than they ever had before, large, bright and green, two emeralds set in a soft, pale face. The color of his skin seemed a little lighter against such dark fabric, but that could very well have been caused by nervousness. When Yuuri looked into those big eyes that remained focused on him the whole way up, he could see that the other boy was just as anxious as he was, slender hands shaking ever so slightly by his sides.

Yuuri tried to smile comfortingly at him but failed miserably, and had to swallow down a lump that had formed as his heart beat slowly began to pick up again. He felt as his palms were once again coated with a layer of sweat, which he wiped onto the sides of his pants, eyes still glued to those of his fiancé. A surge of heat spread through him, his blood rushing through his vein as Wolfram come closer, his throat drying up as he continued to look at him.

Was it normal to feel this way? Was it common to have feelings swirling within you that you couldn't identify, much less ever recall having before? What was going on inside of him, why was he suddenly feeling like this, and what did it all mean? Was it simply surprise at seeing Wolfram looking so wonderful after weeks of not knowing what he was going to wear? Was it adoration at the fact that his friend would willingly put himself through this, despite the amount of emotional turmoil he must surely be going through? Or was it something more, something deeper that he wasn't ready to acknowledge just yet?

It seemed like a lifetime had passed before Wolfram finally ascended the stone steps that lead up to where the king was standing, when it had only been a matter of minutes. Yuuri was still looking at him as the blond came to a stop right in front of him, the two of them turning so that they were facing one another, not bothered by the crowd that slowly took their seats again at another motion of the priest's arms. Wolfram's lips stretched into a small smile as he looked up at the dark haired boy, one that wavered slightly but was still better and more honest that any Yuuri could have been able to force onto his face just then. Still, Yuuri was able to see the uncertainty in his eyes, the doubts he was having as the ceremony went on around them.

The dark haired king snapped back to reality when Wolfram timidly reached out to grab onto his lax hands, holding them with his smaller, paler ones as the old priest began to speak once more, words that Yuuri didn't really hear and could hardly remember later. It must not had been anything important since his blond friend didn't seem to be paying much attention either; the man in white was probably just reiterating the reason for such a large gathering and how wonderful an occasion this was for all of them.

He squeezed the hands that were within his own, finally able to plaster a lopsided smile on his face to disguise his insecurities, reminding himself again that he was doing this for the people, and that although that was the only reason he had agreed he still needed to respect the other boy's feelings. This was a big thing for Wolfram, who began to lose his mask of confidence as the priest continued his speech, and Yuuri didn't want to be inconsiderate now of all times. The shorter young man already had a few tears in his eyes, ones he was stubbornly holding back, refusing to show such weakness in front of so many people. Yuuri could do nothing to comfort him, knew there wasn't anything that could make this any easier - for either of them.

"Lord Wolfram," the priest's voice broke through both of their thoughts, reminding them that they were not alone, causing Wolfram to stand a bit straighter, though his gaze had yet to stray from that of the king's. "Do you understand that by marrying His Royal Majesty, you will the given all the powers and responsibilities as a king of the Great Demon Kingdom, and that the title of Prince will be bestowed upon you as long as you remain by his side?"

"I do," Wolfram answered in a voice that belied his true feelings, keeping his doubts well hidden.

"Do you swear to protect him, and to support him in all decisions, as well as to provide him with comfort and guidance when he is in need?"

"I do," he replied as second time, just as firmly as the first.

"Do you swear to protect our people, to serve them to the best of your abilities, and to dedicate your life to ruling over them kindly and justly, and to follow though with the duties you will hereby accept."

"I do," was the repeated answer, though this time around Yuuri could feel his fiancé's hands trembling .

"Your Majesty," the old man turned to the raven haired youth, and Yuuri felt his stomach twist, his breaths coming in quick succession as the attention was then turned to him. "Do you understand that by taking this man's hand you will hereby share the powers and responsibilities that you accepted on the day of your coronation ceremony, and that by going through with this wedding you are reaffirming your solemn oath to protect this country and it's people?"

"I do," Yuuri said, inwardly amazed at how easily it came out. Then again, he'd already promised himself to the people once before, so there really wasn't much of a difference, besides the fact the he wasn't alone now.

"Do you swear to protect young Lord von Bielefeld, to accept his support, comfort, and guidance, and to rule together to better our country and the lives of others, until the end of your days?"

The youthful king could feel all eyes on him as he paused before answering, opening his mouth to give the short, two word reply, only to shut it a moment later. He swallowed hard, building up the courage he felt slowly slipping from his grasp, holding onto it tightly as he looked at the liquid droplets hanging in the corners of Wolfram's eyes. It surprised him how two simple words could mean so much, and how difficult it could be just to say them when he'd been preparing himself for this moment for the past four weeks - longer, really, if he took the time to look back over the four years that they had been engaged.

For two people who had started off practically hating one another, they'd experienced a lot together, more than he had with anyone else. The moment they'd first laid eyes on one another with Wolfram scowling down at him from the palace's front steps came to mind, as did the dinner party later that night, which had resulted in the slap that has since bound them together. Next there was the duel Yuuri had won thanks to a lot of luck and the powers that he hadn't even known he possessed, and soon after that the blond had started calling him a wimp, the closest thing to a pet name Wolfram would ever use on anybody.

Then Wolfram had snuck on board a ship to be with him, to protect him and keep him away from all he pretty women, even knowing that he would be seasick almost the entire time. Next was the hatching of the bearbees, the adventure that had lead them to Pochi - "It's 'Liesel!'" - their meeting and adopting Greta, how Wolfram had used the healing abilities he had to help Hube when Yuuri had wanted to save his life. There was the incident with Elizabeth - when Yuuri had tried unsuccessfully to get ride of him - their travels to Earth, and everything that had occurred when all four of the forbidden boxes had been found.

But the memory that had always stood out the most in Yuuri's mind was of a time when Conrad had gone, and the young king had felt lost, alone and confused, when he'd had to stand on his own instead of relying on everyone else. Wolfram hadn't been there in the beginning, but he'd come at a time when Yuuri had needed him the most, needed his love, his friendship, and his understanding more than he ever had before. He'd been in danger of more than just falling; he'd doubted himself, hadn't known where to go, who to turn to, or what to do to fix everything. Slowly he'd been falling apart, and then Wolfram had grabbed onto his hand and refused to let go.

"_Don't, Wolfram! If something goes wrong, you'll..."_ he'd said to the other boy, not wanting to see him hurt, not wanting to be the cause of another needless death, because he'd been so convinced back then that Conrad had truly gone. Losing someone else would have been unbearable.

But Wolfram had smiled at him, a small, sweet smile he rarely showed anyone, and his hand had tightened in both comfort and determination. _"Then I'll fall with you."_

Those five words meant more to Yuuri than the three that normally filled people's hearts with so much warmth and happiness. He'd always known that his friend would sacrifice himself in order to save him, but he hadn't thought that Wolfram would be willing to die _with_ him. It was then that he'd realized Wolfram's true feelings, that the fairer boy didn't just fight for him because he was obligated to as one of his protectors, but because he wanted to. The engagement had no longer been about honor and pride, but of hope and love. He would have been crazy to doubt Wolfram's feelings for him after that, and it had been even harder to fool himself into believing that the reason Wolfram cared for him was because they were friends.

Yuuri wondered if he would have been able to do the same thing if their positions had been reversed, and though he was sure he would have at least tried to save his fiancé, the meaning behind it would have been completely different. Standing here as he was now, eyes still locked onto green ones, Yuuri pondered over the situation, realizing for the first time how completely selfless Wolfram had been over the years, allowing him to do as he pleased, and doing nothing to hold him back - besides the occasional jealous fit, but Yuuri could understand his reasoning for that now; the blond had put up with a lot of crap from him, and had rarely complained.

When it had mattered most, Wolfram had been able to do what no one else could. He'd followed Yuuri's wishes when others would have simply ignored them. He'd gone against his older brother's orders countless times, stood up to him for Yuuri's sake rather than his own. He'd taken care of Greta when he could have just as easily slighted her, had named himself one of her fathers when Yuuri hadn't even taken the time to consult him about adopting her, and had kept the poor girl from feeling lonely and neglected whenever the king wasn't there. He'd repudiated his engagement with Elizabeth just to be with him, when the dirty blonde haired girl seemed to love him far more than Yuuri could ever possibly show.

And in the end, when Yuuri had had to chose one world over the other without knowing if he would ever be able to make it back, Wolfram had been the one to tell him to go, to return to his parents and his life on Earth, giving him up and denying himself happiness for the sake of Yuuri's own. _"My fiancé wouldn't be that cruel."_

'_I _am_ cruel,'_ the black haired boy thought, still holding onto to Wolfram's hands, small and pale, slender and delicate, but so strong and so loving. Those hands had saved him countless times, whether they'd been wielding a sword, conjuring up hot flames, or holding onto him for dear life. '_What have I ever given up for anyone I care about? Conrad was hurt because of me, and... Wolfram could have died. And then he... he didn't have to give me up. I would have stayed. If he had told me to, I would have stayed.'_

A part of him knew that Wolfram had been aware of this, that he could have easily convinced Yuuri that the people in this world needed him more than anyone on Earth did. _"What about your responsibility to the kingdom?"_ he could have said. _"What about Greta? Are you just going to leave her without saying goodbye?"_

But he hadn't said anything like that at all. _"Go!!"_ he'd said instead, "_Your family is waiting for you,"_... and right now, that made all the difference.

"I do," he finally replied to the priest's questioning, hoping Wolfram could see the sincerity on his face, could hear it in his voice, wanting to tell him much more than that, more than time would allow. _'I _do_ care about you, even if I don't love you the way you want me to . I want to be there for you the way you've always been there for me. I want to protect you, too.'_

"Please, step foreword," the older man directed them, leading both boys over to the gushing stream of water. Only when they were in front of it did Yuuri release one of his fiancé's hands, though he remained holding onto the other as they stood side by side. "Place your hands within the waterfall to seal your pledge to the kingdom," they were told.

Together the two youths raised their joined extremities, slowly easing them into the cool water the way Yuuri had the evening of his coronation ceremony, only this time he wasn't suddenly sucked back to his home world. The clear liquid seeped though the dark material of their sleeves, chilling the skin beneath, and Yuuri could feel as a shiver traveled through the smaller body next to him. Wolfram probably hadn't thought it would be as cold as it was, and hadn't prepared himself for the sudden chill.

When they pulled their hands away after holding them under the steady rush for a few seconds, their jackets had been dampened and a couple of stray drops dripped down onto the stone floor. The black haired half human looked back to Wolfram then, smiling encouragingly, and received a small smile in return. So far the ceremony hadn't been as bad as he'd originally thought it would be, and with their promise to the people now sealed, he realized it was finally almost over.

"Your Eminence, please bring forth the crown," the clergyman requested of the sage, who nodded and immediately turned to retrieve the desired object.

It had been set off to the side, cushioned by a small blue pillow atop a waist-high pedestal, waiting for the time in which it would be removed and placed atop a head of golden blond hair. Murata carefully picked it up, holding it as venerably as he had the demon king's crown, transporting it from it's original place to where Yuuri and Wolfram had been left standing. He took it to the priest first, who made some sort of strange hand motions over it and mumbled a few words that Yuuri couldn't quite catch, although he suspected that the old man was blessing it.

Once he was done, Murata turned to face his Earth friend, holding the crown out for him to take. Yuuri did so, releasing both of Wolfram's hands now as he moved to pick it up, using every ounce of control he had to still his nervous shaking, not wanting to do something stupid and embarrassing like dropping the head ornament.

It was tradition for a new crown to be made for each new king or queen - except for those appointed to the position by the Great One, who would then wear the one Yuuri currently had on. Those who married into the monarchy were given their own, most of which were still kept in the palace treasure vault, though there were a few that had been removed and put on display elsewhere.

Wolfram's had been specially designed and crafted by one of the Great Demon Kingdom's most renowned jewelers, who'd made it to flatter his fair features. It was small, not nearly as large as the demon kings, and was made up of a few dozen precious gemstones - small diamonds that sparkled brilliantly, beautiful pearls that gave it a decidedly delicate air, and brilliant sapphires that were slightly larger than the rest, glimmering in the light of the setting sun as it filtered in through the tall windows.

Yuuri breathed in deeply as he turned back to face his blond friend, black eyes boring into green again as he took a step closer to him, Murata moving back to stand where he'd been before. The priest positioned himself so that he was behind the royal couple, allowing the audience to have a clear view of the two boys as the king officially gave half of his powers to and named his fiancé the prince of the Great Demon Kingdom, completing the ceremony and further binding them together. It was a bit frightening to have so many eyes on him at once, but Yuuri did his best to ignore them, giving all of his attention to the younger looking male in front of him.

"Now, Your Majesty," the old man in the white robes said, a smile on his well-aged face, "crown your prince."

'My_ prince?'_ a voice inside of Yuuri's head snorted, his hands unconsciously moving so that he was holding the glamorous tiara above the other boy, preparing to lower it. _'Mine?'_ the voice continued to wonder, stalling him, a few long moments passing them by without anything happening. _'I don't even deserve him. What have I ever done but hurt him? This was all an accident. This wasn't supposed to happen. Why am I doing this? Why is _he_ doing this? God... what should I do?'_

A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his neck under his collar as he stared down at Wolfram, battling with himself internally, knowing this was the last chance for either of them to opt out of the marriage. He knew that although this wasn't what he wanted, he had to go through with it for the sake of the people; if he backed down now, it would be a betrayal to all those men and women who looked up to and believed in him (not to mention a complete waste of everyone's time). But Wolfram still had a choice; he could still walk away and not have to worry about any of this, didn't have to give up his hopes and dreams if he really didn't want to. There was nothing tying him to this, nothing that could force him to stay.

The blond boy easily noticed his fiancé's indecision, his large emerald eyes gazing up at the king, searching within black orbs, able to clearly read every single one of his doubts. He knew exactly what Yuuri was thinking, and when the taller male had still yet to go through the motion of crowning him, Wolfram smiled passed the sting of tears in his eyes, shaking his head slightly at Yuuri's imploring look. He knew what the king was giving him the opportunity to do, but he didn't take it. He'd already made his decision, and he was intent on seeing it through to the very end.

"I love you," the paler boy whispered so quietly that Yuuri was probably the only one who could hear him, even in the near complete silence of the room.

The dark eyed king nodded in understanding and without further ado slowly lowered the crown still held between his hands, watching as Wolfram closed his eyes as the elaborate fixture finally rested on top of his blond curls. Yuuri released it then, lowing his appendages back down to his sides. He remained staring at his friend as he'd been doing since the demon boy had walked through the doors, unable to even spare a glance at anyone else. He knew there were all smiling, could even hear his mother sniffling slightly now from the front row, but he didn't want to witness anyone else's happiness when he was so conflicted.

Things would have been so much easier if he wasn't so confused about everything. After all the years he'd spent preaching to others about love - defending the humans and demons who engaged in a romantic relationship - he still didn't even know what love was or what made one kind of love so different from another. How did Wolfram know that he was in love with him? How had Lady Celi's known that she'd loved her husbands? How had Adalbert and Conrad known that they'd loved Julia? How did Hube and Nicola, and his own parents, know that they loved one another?

Was it okay that he wasn't in love with the blond haired boy? Could they still make this marriage work and rule together like teammates? Yuuri wasn't too sure, but if there was one thing he did know it was that he was glad it was Wolfram up here with him right now and not some stranger he'd been forced to marry. At least with Wolfram there was some sort of familiarity; he didn't feel as awkward around him as he would have around someone else. He'd grown used to the other male and despite the oddness of it all, he felt comfortable with Wolfram, knew that he didn't have to hide anything or pretend to be someone he wasn't when he was with him.

Yuuri smiled when he realized that they should have finally come to the end of the ceremony, and it instantly felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was done and over with. He wouldn't have to worry about it ever again, nor would he have to stress over what would become of their engagement. It was settled. No more decisions would have to be made. Now he and Wolfram would be able to go on with their lives as normally as was possible.

He turned to the clergyman, expecting the gray haired man to begin another long-winded speech to end the ceremony with before sending everyone off to the massive ballroom to enjoy themselves at the reception for the remainder of the evening. The priest smiled back at him, but instead of speaking to the audience, he made one more request of the royal couple. "Seal your promises to each other with a kiss."

Yuuri's mouth dropped open and he felt like the air had been forced from his lungs by a swift kick in his gut. Out of all the things a demon wedding ceremony could have in common with one on earth, it had to end with a kiss?!

Immediately he turned his gaze to Murata, who's face had nearly split in half with his amused grin, and the dark haired king was severely tempted to shout at him and throw a wild punch in the sage's direction for not mentioning something like this beforehand. Looking back towards Wolfram, he found the fairer young man gazing up at him with a straight face, enough evidence for Yuuri to realize that the boy had been expecting it, and that the only one would hadn't known was the king himself. Obviously someone had failed to inform him, not doubt wary of what his reaction would be.

How the hell else did they expect him to react? He'd be a complete hypocrite if he said two men getting married wasn't right, as he'd previously stated on several occasions that it shouldn't matter who or what two people were as long as they were in love with one another, and he supposed it was only right that such a statement was true for couples of the same sex along with interracial couples. That did not mean, however, that he was at all comfortable with kissing his best friend. Hugging was fine, cuddling was something he could easily work on, even holding hands wasn't very threatening, but kissing?!

All Yuuri could think was how the waterfall behind them suddenly began to look like a nice, convenient way out of here.

He gulped as he continued to stare down at the blond in front of him, black eyes almost bulging out of his head as he tried to think of something to say or do - or not do, depending on what he wanted the outcome to be. It's not like he had and experience with kissing, besides the occasional peck on the cheek for his mom or Greta, but he had a pretty strong feeling that brushing his lips against Wolfram's cheek wasn't what the priest had meant when he'd said "seal your promises." That meant they had to do it mouth to mouth, right? A real kiss.

"Wolf, I..." he began in a quiet whisper. He knew that everyone in the audience had their eyes glued on them expectantly, which made him more self conscious than he would have been otherwise. From behind him he could hear Murata clearing his throat, his way of urging the other double black on. "I..." he tried again, only to trail off as he failed to think of anything to say.

Wolfram's reply to his nervous stuttering was to lift both of his pale hands and place one on each side of the king's face, forcing him to continue looking at him as he moved to stand closer. When Yuuri didn't lean down to meet him halfway, the blond raised himself up onto his tip-toes, titling his head to the side and pulling Yuuri down somewhat in order to firmly press their lips together.

The black haired half human stood frozen and his eyes remained open as he tried to figure out what he should do about this. Time seemed to stop and his mind went completely blank. His hands began to twitch by his sides and something - some instinct - was urging him to do something with them besides letting them hang there, telling him that there were plenty of other places where they could rest much more comfortably. Unconsciously the two appendages slowly came up, and he didn't realize that they'd started to move until they brushed up against the sides of Wolfram's thin waist. It was there that he allowed them to rest, unintentionally keeping the other boy in place.

He was weak in the knees by the time he was actually able to think coherently, and his dark eyes had slid shut before he'd even been aware of it. Part of him told him that he should kiss back, that it was only appropriate since they were making the same pledges to one another, but he pressed back so imperceptibly that he doubted Wolfram even felt it; if he did, then he was most likely well aware of Yuuri's awkwardness. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but he would have felt a hundred times better about doing this if there weren't so many pairs of eyes boring in to the both of them.

Although, he had to admit that it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd feared it would be. In fact, it was everything he'd always expected a first kiss should be like: warm, sweet, and timid, if not a little clumsy. He supposed it wasn't much different than kissing a girl (not that he had any experience with that either) except he didn't have to worry about lipstick or lip-gloss, or any of those other substances females put on their faces. Wolfram's palms were hot against his tanned skin and his lips were amazingly soft, his slender body fitting as perfectly against him as it had when they'd first embraced a few weeks ago.

He didn't want to think it, didn't want to admit it, but deep inside he was a little disappointed when the kiss ended so soon.

The room was still silent when the kiss was over, the orchestra having stopped playing the moment they pulled apart, the sound of the waterfall nothing more than a barely noticeable gush in the background. Yuuri's eyes slid open after a few seconds, dark orbs staring down at the other boy again, no longer wide with surprise, but blank, as a million thoughts flew through his head at once. Throughout the ceremony he hadn't felt as if anything were changing between them, but with the kiss that had just taken place he had to admit that there was something… a spark of something different.

With one seemingly casual touch of the lips, he felt as if their whole friendship had changed, and it frightened him like nothing else had before. Wolfram was his friend, more like a brother to him than anything else, and now all of a sudden there was a new dynamic to their whole relationship, one he wasn't sure he was quite comfortable with. Looking into Wolfram's vibrant green eyes, he found that he couldn't have looked away even if he wanted to, too caught up in watching how the light played off of the emerald green, how is caused his hair to shine like a golden halo.

"It is now my esteemed pleasure to present to you," the priest began after a few seconds, a pleased smile on his face as he stared lovingly at his king and recently crowned prince, "His Majesty, King Yuuri Shibuya, and His Majesty, Prince Wolfram von Bielefeld."

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause then, standing from their seats to clap, his mother still sniffling quietly, Greta beaming a smile at both of her fathers. But Yuuri didn't see them, knew they were there, knew that he and Wolfram were not alone in the room, but his focus and attention rested solely on the boy in front of him. He didn't even realize that his hands still rested along Wolfram's waste, or that the blond had wound one of his arms around his neck during their intimate embrace, his other hand still resting against the side of his face.

Yuuri felt empty somehow, in a way that he couldn't quite explain, and he was more confused by that than he was by anything else. What was going on? Why was he feeling this way? Why had the feeling of dread suddenly intensified within his gut?

What was he supposed to do now?

**TBC...**


	8. Attaquer

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Eight - Attaquer - To Attack  
**

The bells in the highest towers of Blood Pledge Castle could still be heard chiming as the evening went on, as well as the faint burst of fireworks that lit up the sky, marking this evening as one of celebration. Outside, the people of the capital city immersed themselves in merry-making, carousing and partying as if this night brought with it a grand festival, overjoyed at the prospect of their king's marriage. Inside the majestic palace, noblemen and high ranking military officials were absorbed in their own form of gala affair, taking part in a joyous reception that would be remembered by all for many years to come.

Too bad King Yuuri did not share their sentiments. He'd never been fond of the lavish parties that were thrown in this world for what seemed like almost every occasion, where huge hordes of people would gather to bow and gawk at him as if he were some sort of god, a spectacle on display. He always feared that he would one day make a fool of himself at such an event, and that the people's imagination of what the Demon King was like - dignified, proud, and in control - would be ruined when he was proved to be nothing more than a bumbling idiot.

Tonight's social gathering had started out easily enough. As soon as the wedding ceremony had ended, their guests had filed out of the coronation chamber and been lead to the spacious ballroom - where tables had been arranged along the walls, leaving the center of the large room open for use by dancing couples. Yuuri and Wolfram had made their grand entrance soon after, hardly given any time to reflect upon the fact that they were now married before being thrust into a room filled with wealthy nobles waiting to give their congratulations. The plethora of people had erupted with cheers and applause when the two had crossed the threshold, bowing deeply to the dark haired king and the fair haired prince.

Since then, the reception had continued to go on around him, but Yuuri hadn't done much in the way of taking part in it. He'd eaten the fabulous dinner that had been prepared at a large table on the far side of the room - one that had been reserved for he, Wolfram, and their close friends and family - but he'd been too lost in thought to appreciate the long hours it had probably taken the chefs to prepare such a splendid feast. He'd hardly even tasted it as he'd shoveled it into his mouth and quickly swallowed, nor had he been able to keep up a decent conversation with anyone, though there had been many people who'd tried to commune with him. He'd been too distracted to think of anything to say in reply.

Once the food had been consumed and the orchestra had begun to play, he and Wolfram had taken the first dance at both Jennifer and Lady Celi's insistence. Yuuri was sure that such a thing was not custom in this world and had probably been instigated by the many discussions the two women had had concerning weddings on Earth and the Great Demon Kingdom. Either way, their guests seemed to have no qualms about adopting the tradition as their own, and had stood around to watch as the royal couple took the floor.

A minstrel had been commissioned to sing during the festivities and had crooned a chorus of words that Yuuri could not readily remember, to a soft, soothing, tranquil melody that he knew would be stuck in his head for the rest of the night. The experience of dancing with the young man who was now his husband had been almost surreal, and he was extremely thankful that the song has not lasted long. It had been difficult to stare Wolfram in the eye now that things had changed so drastically between them, and his palms had been slick with sweat as he'd lead the blond across the floor.

The dance was just another one of the many activities he'd managed to improve his skills in, but taking part in the exercise with another man instead of a woman had been a bit awkward. Luckily, Wolfram's embarrassment and unease at being the center of attention had dampened his grace and superior abilities, so that Yuuri was not the only one occasionally looking down to make sure that no feet were unintentionally stepped on. They'd been fortunate to get through it without messing up the steps, and had both quickly returned the their seats once the song had ended.

Now Yuuri was sitting by himself, forcing a smile to those who came over to offer him their well-wishes. He allowed his dark eyes to scan over the crowded room as he took a few sips from his glass of wine, which had recently been refilled by a passing maid. Most of those present were well on their way to a drunken state - if they weren't there already - smiling away as they alternated between conversing, dancing, and munching on the light snacks that were being carried around on silver platters. Even Shori had loosened up, and was currently flirting with the daughter of Lord von Mannheim, Lady Elise.

Despite all the laughter and cheer, Yuuri didn't very much feel like celebrating at the moment. His mother and Greta had tried to lighten his spirits plenty of times over the course of the evening, but Yuuri couldn't bring himself to feel as happy as all the others. Now that the wedding was finally over, he knew he had a lot to think about and work through, more than he'd had during the weeks that passed by with preparations, or the years of the engagement.

The whole ceremony felt like a blur to him when he looked over it, like the event had occurred in a few seconds, though it had felt like hours while it had been taking place. It almost seemed as if it hadn't happened at all, but the proof was there every time he looked at his friend and caught sight of the crown that still rested atop his head.

Outwardly things didn't appear any different than they had been before, though Yuuri was sure that was because the ceremony had just ended a few hours ago and the newlyweds hadn't been given the opportunity to talk or be around one another without more than a hundred pairs of eyes following their every move. Besides the five or so minutes in which the two of them had shared a dance, they'd hardly interacted in the least. They'd barely said a word to one another all evening, too preoccupied with making sure their guests were well fed and entertained to worry about the current state of their relationship.

Inwardly, however, some part of the young demon king had gone through a metamorphosis of sorts. His emotions were running wild, and he was infinitely surprised that he managed to appear calm despite the inner turmoil he was going through, thanking the alcohol he was consuming for it's ability to make him become somewhat detached from everything else. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think clearly and sort through his various thoughts - which was fine by him, since they confused the hell out of him more than anything else.

His feelings were a jumbled mess. Ever since the culmination of the ceremony and the timid kiss he and Wolfram had shared, the strangest feelings had begun the surge through him, ones he had little to no hope of identifying. He felt different somehow, but he couldn't be sure why exactly that was. Everything was too obscure, too perplexing for him to be able to figure it all out.

When he'd once dreaded the idea of marrying so young, especially for the reasons that had prompted today's wedding, he found now that he was oddly apathetic about the whole ordeal. While everything had been going on, and while the preparations were being made, it had been a frightening experience, too fast for him to be able to keep up with. Now that it was over and done with and he no longer had to worry about what would become of their engagement, however, the stress that had built up slowly began the leave him. The weight that had been set on his shoulders had lifted, only to leave him with a new form of burden, one he felt like dealing with even less than the previous one.

It was disconcerting to be staring at Wolfram as the blond moved with their daughter along the dance floor and thinking of all this as normal. Looking at it that way made it seem as if he'd expected things to turn out this way all along, when that was most certainly not the case. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be marrying Wolfram before the winter set in, he would have laughed in their face and made sure to remind whoever it was that he and Wolfram were friends, nothing more, nothing less. Two months ago, marriage had been the furthest thing from his mind, especially when he had so many other things that captured his concern and attention.

So then why did thing feels as normal as they did now? Shouldn't he be a little more upset than this? Shouldn't he continue to complain about how unfair this was to the both of them? Shouldn't he be angry that something like this had been practically forced upon him, that he'd had to give up the future he could have had for one that he may not even want? He was now tied down before he'd really been given the chance to live. He'd never even been on a single date and he was already married. Now there was no chance of him ever meeting and getting together with a pretty girl, having a normal life, having children. He was stuck where he was, with no way out, no way to change anything or go about fixing this mess.

"_You have a choice,"_ he remembered his older brother telling him just a few nights ago, when he'd come to his family with the news of the wedding. _"You don't have to go along with anything if you don't want to."_

"_We think it's a good idea,"_ Gwendal's deep, somber voice reverberated within his head. _"These are serious times we are in now. Even if we do not plan on a war, the situation with the humans is tense. The marriage of our king would give the people more insurance to believe that you have every intention of ruling this country properly. It would boost morale and make you appear to be a more stable ruler."_

"_I've been to the other world. I know what it's like there, and I know how the demon tribe in that world think." _It was Shori again, trying to dissuade him from making what he obviously thought was the wrong decision. _"I know that they care about you and your safety, but when it comes to their kingdom your feelings become less important. That isn't right. As their king, you should be making the decisions, not allowing them to do that for you."_

Yuuri knew that his brother was right, but he was also aware of the truth in the words spoken by his Chief of State. In the end, he had made the decision he'd thought would be the best for his people, forsaking his own wants and desires in order to protect them and the current monarchy. He didn't see what other choice he'd had. Any number of things could occur while they were having so many problems with the human countries, to him as well as to the kingdom itself, and he knew that it was important to have an heir should something disastrous befall him, else his country fall apart.

But there was something other than that that disturbed the black haired half-human, something he came to realize as he finished off his second glass of wine.

The idea of staying with Wolfram for the remainder of his life, of never marrying a woman, didn't bother him as much as it originally had.

Before, he'd always used "I like women" as an excuse not to follow through with his accidental proposal, but when he took a moment to reflect on it now, he discovered that he'd never had much of a real interest in women in the first place. Baseball had always been what was on his mind before he'd become serious about being the Demon King, and before that he'd been too young to care much for a steady relationship with a member of the opposite sex. Even after he'd adapted to life here, there had been no female that had attracted his attention for very long, and the way many of them had pined after him had been more than a little disturbing (not that Wolfram's foreword approach had been any better). He may have thought that some of them were pretty or attractive, but that was it.

In the past, when he'd tried to imagine himself with a girl, envision what it would be like - for the sake of seeming like any other 'normal' hot-blooded male - he'd always met some form of resistance. Embarrassment and inexperience had both been major factors in his failures to keep the fantasies alive, but Wolfram's voice had occasionally been there to snap at him in his mind, accusing him of cheating and cursing his perversions. He was so used to hearing the blond's loud, angry voice every time he so much as glanced at someone with the slightest interest that he heard it in his dreams, which prevented him from getting any farther than first base with any of his imaginary girlfriends.

It was troubling to him that Wolfram seemed to hold so much power over his thoughts and actions, and even more so that he found himself thinking of his friend more often than he thought about a pretty girl that happened to catch his fancy, especially recently.

Shaking his head, Yuuri turned to gaze at the young man in question, watching as he continued to spin around with their adopted daughter, the movements coming to him effortlessly now that he was not so distressed. Something the fourteen year old human girl said brought a smile to Wolfram's face, the kind the young noble reserved specifically for her - and Yuuri, when he was lucky enough not to fumble with his words and anger the other boy. The king found that he rather liked the fair haired demon's smile, how his eyes lit up and his defenses lowered, how he seemed so free of worries. It was a nice change from the scowl that usually marred his features, a smile Yuuri wished he could see more of.

'_He really does look beautiful,'_ he allowed himself to think, still gazing at him across the room, absentmindedly fingering the crystal goblet set before him. His black eyes widened once he realized the unwanted journey his mind was beginning to take, and he had to shake his head again, as if that movement alone could somehow fix his thought process. _'He's pretty, yes,'_ he inwardly told himself, _'but what does that have to do with anything?'_

'_Perhaps you find him attractive,' _another part of him whispered.

'_Of course I think he's attractive. I don't have any problem admitting to that. I've never had a problem with that. But…' _the young king paused in his musings, frowning deeply. _'How do I feel about him? How are we supposed to make things work? Was this really the best choice, or am I eventually going to screw things up? What happens now?'_

'_Where do we go from here?'_

It was at that moment that Yuuri found himself being distracted, and he was thankful for the unexpected interruption. He'd been letting his eyes trail over the guests in an attempt to keep himself from staring at Wolfram, when he caught sight of Yozak entering the ballroom from the opened double doors on the opposite side of the room. The orange haired man was fairly noticeable among all the sparkle and glamor, no where near as well dressed as everyone else, his tunic torn and tattered. He tried to make his way through the crowd as inconspicuously as possible, but his rugged looks inadvertently drew some attention. The broad shouldered spy only smiled at those who spared him a curious glance, and continued to make his way to where Gwendal was conversing with Mikhail and Günter in one corner of the chamber.

Yuuri was instantly on alert, quirking an eyebrow as he noticed the look of anxiety Yozak was trying his hardest to conceal. Others may not have been able to pick it up, as the well built man was surprisingly good at hiding his thoughts and emotions when the need arose, but Yuuri had spent so much time around him over the years that he'd learned to read the small signs. His steps were a bit rushed, and though he could still force a friendly, nonchalant smile, there was a seriousness in his blue eyes that revealed his true state of mind.

It was obvious to the black haired man that something was going on, as Yozak had been put in charge of security for the evening and wouldn't have left his designated post unless something important had come up. Seeing this as a good opportunity to get his mind off of things he'd rather not think about at the moment, Yuuri stood to his feet and abandoned his empty wine glass, heading towards the area in which the others were currently located. As he moved, he noted that Conrad seemed to have caught on as well, heading away from where he'd been quietly chatting with Lady Celi to stand by his older brother.

"Shibuya," he heard Murata calling to him, stopping him in his tracks momentarily once he'd reached the center of the room. The sage was gazing at him gravely, giving him a look that requested he stop and refrain from drawing any closer to the obvious signs of trouble.

"What?" Yuuri wondered, shooting the other black haired man a look of confusion, wondering why his friend would prevent him from discovering what was going on that would require Yozak to come in and speak with Gwendal in the middle of the reception.

"Wait," Murata told him, taking a step closer to stand by the other double black. "If it's something important, they'll tell you."

"Then I may as well find out now," he reasoned, "and save them the trouble of coming to me later."

"Shibuya," his friend tried again, that all-knowing look entering his dark eyes, leading Yuuri to wonder if he had any idea of what was going on. Knowing Murata, he probably already knew exactly what the fuss was about, could have even been expecting it.

"You know," the king observed, watching as the other man shrugged casually. "Tell me."

"Why? Me telling you isn't going to change your reaction at all, nor is it going to fix anything."

"Has something bad happened?"

"That depends," Ken replied, peering at him through his glasses, his lips lowered in a severe frown. "Bad things have been happening for the last half a year."

"Are we under attack?"

"Are you willing to retaliate if we are?"

Yuuri's frown deepened. He wasn't sure he liked the other young man's tone of voice, or how it seemed as if Murata were accusing him of being negligent and skirting his responsibilities. Whatever his friend was getting at, the king wasn't in the mood for playing guessing games to try and pull the information out of him. He turned his back on the bespectacled man before anything else could be said, though he knew Murata was following him through the crowds of people who bowed at them as they passed. He ignored him when the sage called his name again, and continued to head towards his original destination.

Two glasses of wine were enough to make him act out in situations where he may not have done so before, so instead of waiting for his advisers to come to him with the information they felt was necessary to tell him, he was going to get the answers on his own and ask the questions he would have otherwise held back.

"Where?" he heard Conrad inquire once he'd drawn close enough, the brown haired man staring at his childhood friend with a gloomy look replacing the smile that had been there just seconds before.

"To the north," Yozak replied, keeping his voice low enough so as not to alarm the guests around them. "Fane."

"Fane?!" Lord von Karbelnikoff appeared surprised, light brown eyes widening. "That's only an hour's ride from here!"

Yuuri watched as Conrad turned to his long haired brother, brown eyes hardening while he shot him a questioning look, as if silently asking him what course of action they should take to deal with these sudden turn of events. The Demon King himself continued to slowly draw closer, and though he was deeply concerned about the current crisis, he was a little thankful for the opportunity to possibly get out of here. There were only so many smiles he could force before it all became boring and monotonous.

"We'll set out immediately," Gwendal answered after a moment of quiet contemplation. Turning to Yozak, he added, "Have one of our units prepare for departure."

The orange haired man nodded, then turned to leave, exiting the ballroom at a quicker pace than what he'd used to make his way in, heading out to round up some of their soldiers and follow the orders given to him by Lord von Voltaire. At this point, some of their guests began to look their way curiously, those who were not drunk starting to whisper between themselves, and Yuuri knew it was only a matter of time before the rumors started to spread. Gwendal and the others didn't bother to take the time to explain anything to anyone, and made their way to the open doorway, intent on joining Yozak and their troops to the northern village.

Yuuri followed them out, swiftly pushing passed guests as he quickened his steps in order to catch up with them, attracting even more attention and causing the level of whispering to increase. He stumbled into the near empty hallways, Murata calling after him one last time, but Yuuri paid him no mind, going after the others as they hastily made their way down the hall, heading for the exit of the castle. The torches and candles affixed to the stone walls were the only source of light, the stars and moon outside now covered by a layer of clouds, darkening the world around them.

"Hey, wait a minute!" he called to Gwendal, Conrad, and Mikhail, forcing them to stop in their tracks as his voice reached their ears. They turned to him, and when he stopped in front of them he could see the grim expressions on each of their faces. "Aren't any of you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at the thought that they'd simply up and leave without explaining the reasons to their king.

"Please, return to your guests, Your Majesty," Conrad politely requested, though there was a sternness in his voice that made Yuuri momentarily think twice about arguing with them. "We'll give our report when we return," he said, as if to reassure him that he would not be left out of the loop.

"You can at least tell me what's happened," the double black told him, giving them all a determined look that clearly said he wasn't about to back down. "What did Yozak tell you? What's going on in Fane?"

"We're under attack," Gwendal replied, glaring as he did so, frustrated.

'_I knew it,'_ a part of the dark haired king thought, his shoulders slumping at the idea of his people being hurt.

"We're heading out now in order to investigate and estimate the damages."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"It would be for the best if you were to stay here, Your Majesty," Mikhail said solemnly. "We are unaware of just how serious the situation is. It could still be unstable, and we cannot afford to put you in any danger. It is safer here, where you have more fitting protection."

"But this is my kingdom!" Yuuri exclaimed. He could still hear the occasional burst of laughter from within the dining room, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. There was no way he could act that happy and celebrate when trouble was brewing elsewhere. He ignored the signs of jubilation to the best of his abilities, paying no mind to the tapping of foot steps as someone came up behind him.

"This is your wedding," Conrad gently reminded him. "Stay here and continue to entertain your guests. If they notice that you've left, they'll begin to wonder what's going on," he explained. "We'll report in as soon as we return to the castle."

"No," the younger man shook his head, feeling as his crown was jostled slightly at the motion. "This isn't important," he told them, not wanting to go back and sit around drinking and plastering on fake smiles when there were people who may need his help. "The guests won't miss me at all. I should be going with you to make sure that things are okay!"

"Things are _not_ okay!" Gwendal barked, earning a flinch from the shorter man, "and the longer you delay us, the longer it will take us to get to the scene and find out exactly what went on!!"

"Please, Your Majesty," Conrad tried again, calmer than his older brother, but still a bit forceful in his request, "go back to the ballroom."

Yuuri's frown remained, disliking the fact that they were attempting to keep him behind. He was well aware of the fact that he could easily use his authority as king and order that they let him join them, though he had a feeling that in this instance they may not follow his demands. Of course he knew he could always deal out some form of punishment should they refuse, but he also knew that not only would his feelings prevent him from going through with it, but they were requesting that he stay for his own safety. It was much less dangerous for him to remain in the palace than it would be for him to ride out to the sight of the attack.

"Fine," he relented with a sigh, his shoulders drooping again in his defeat. "But I want a report the second you come back. I don't care how late it is," he said.

The three of them nodded curtly, silently agreeing to his conditions, then turned to continue their journey out of the castle and to the stables.

Yuuri watched them go, feeling helpless as they disappeared around the corner, wishing there was something more he could do than laze around and rejoin the party. Momentarily he thought of rounding up another small group of men and setting out on his own, but stopped himself with the thought of how worried everyone would be in the off chance that something happened during the journey. For all he knew, their enemies could still be out there, waiting for him to slip up and do something stupid before going after him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time his life had been threatened, but the circumstances had never been as pressing as they were now.

Slowly shaking his head once more, Yuuri moved to begin heading back down the hall towards the ballroom - where the celebration was still going on as if nothing were amiss - but stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the blond figure standing just a few feet away. His dark eyes widened at the realization that Wolfram had probably heard every word that had just been said, most likely taking it the wrong was, as he was often prone to do, and he felt like a fool for wanting to leave without taking at least one second to consider the other young man's feelings. It was easy to pick out the sadness within the blond's emerald orbs, as well as the look of dejection that crossed his soft face.

Though, to be fair, Yuuri hadn't been expecting Wolfram to be out here, hadn't thought his friend had been aware of Yozak's interruption or his brothers' departure, as he'd been so consumed in dancing with their daughter. It was true that the king had heard his footsteps as he'd come up behind him, but he'd thought that it had been Murata still following him, that the wise sage had come out to say "I told you so" with his ever present look and tone of omniscience. He hadn't meant to offend the boy by wanting to skip out on the remainder of the reception that was being held in their honor, even if, in actuality, he wanted nothing more than to leave.

"Wolf…" he began, but trailed off when he realized that he really didn't know what to say, which was nothing knew at all.

"This isn't important?" the newly crowned prince wondered softly, the fire burning from the lights affixed to the walls causing his golden hair to glow as the fire that usually burned in his deep green eyes slowly went out.

"That's not what I meant," Yuuri was quick to reply, only now realizing how awful some of his former statements must have sounded in the ears of his friend. He'd spent the last three or so weeks trying to reassure the other male that he cared - somehow, he cared - only for all of his efforts to suddenly come crumbling down.

"Isn't it?" he was asked in return. "None of this means anything to you."

Yuuri had to admit, Wolfram was right to a certain extent, but there was no way the king was going to say so out loud and purposely hurt his friend's feelings. "Look," he tried again, moving a few steps towards him, "this isn't about that and it's not about you, either. Another village was attacked," the king said, though he was sure the other was already aware of that fact. "I just want to make sure the people there are okay."

"And you didn't think to leave that up to your advisers? I understand that you want to help, Yuuri, but you going out there now isn't going to make things better or change the outcome. Regardless of how worried you are, you have to stay here."

"What, and sit around watching as everyone else has a good time? I'd be more useful to the people who need me than I am to anyone in there," he spoke, motioning towards the opened door of the ballroom with a sweep of his hand.

Wolfram frowned, golden eyebrows arching downwards as his eyes narrowed in clear disapproval. "Don't be such an ass," he said. He kept his voice lowered so as not to be heard by any of the people who may randomly wander into the hall, or the guards stationed nearby - who spared them the occasional surreptitious glance, as if making sure there were no signs of trouble in the immediate area. "You could be having a good time, too, you just choose not to. Your mother is looking for you," he informed the darker male, "and Greta's been waiting all night for you to dance with her."

"I don't feel like dancing."

"Because of earlier?" the blond wondered. "Are you trying to escape because you don't want everyone to try and get us to dance again?"

"No!" the king exclaimed, shaking his head back and forth. "I told you, me wanting to go has nothing to do with you or the wedding!" he half-lied. "I'm just concerned about the people in Fane! Is that so wrong?" he asked him, and then made the stupid mistake of saying, "You're not the only person in the world."

Wolfram visibly flinched, as if those words alone had done him physical harm, his lips drawing down even more, and Yuuri could see his pale hands trembling by his sides. Instantly the king clamped his mouth shut, mentally berating himself for being moronic and cruel enough to say something so insulting on such an occasion. He felt like an ass for not thinking before he let the words tumble out, and cursed his inability to say anything right. He hadn't meant to sound so dispassionate, or make light of the fact that they were now married. It wasn't right that he take all of his sudden frustrations out on the other boy.

"You think I don't know that?" Wolfram asked, quiet in the dim light of the corridor, the jewels of his crown still sparkling despite the lack of adequate lighting. "You think you don't make that clear with every day that passes? I know I'm not at the top of the list of things you care about -"

"That's not true," Yuuri ventured to cut him off. "You know I care about you; you're my friend."

Wolfram simply shook his head, as if that meant nothing to him. "I know that when it's between me and the kingdom, I'll always come in second place. I don't blame you for being concerned, even if I am a little jealous. I won't deny the fact that I wish you'd pay just a little more attention to me. I love you, and I want to be with you. I like when we spend time together," he continued, and he moved so that he was standing directly in front of the half human king, not even an arm's length away from him.

"But right now, I'm not thinking about myself," he told him, his golden hair tumbling about his pretty face as he slowly shook his head. "If you leave now and the guests find out that we've been attacked, they'll start to panic."

"They're going to find out eventually," Yuuri replied. "There's no way we can hide this from them for very long."

"But at least when they _do_ find out, they won't be drunk and half out of their minds," the blond said in return. "You _have_ to go back in there and act like nothing's wrong. Your parents are here," he reminded the other young man. "Do you really want to make your family worried by running off?"

"They know I have certain responsibilities."

"They also know how careless you are. You constantly risk your life without stopping to think about the consequences. What am I supposed to tell your mother if something were to happen to you? At least here you'll be safe."

Yuuri knew he spoke the truth. As much as his family supported him in his role as king, they all knew how dangerous it was in his position, particularly in these troubled times, and though they could hide it well behind cheerful smiles, there was not a doubt in his mind that they worried over him, especially his brother. He didn't enjoy feeding what feelings of anxiety they may have, but he didn't relish the thought of his people being harmed either.

He couldn't dampen his desire to assist them in any way he knew how, even if it meant leaving the relative safety that was provided to him in the castle. His compassion was not compromised just because his own life was at risk. If sacrificing himself meant saving someone else, then it was worth it to step in and do something.

"What about you?" the king asked his companion, thinking they were really somewhat similar in that respect. "You're the exact same. How many times have you risked your life to save me?"

"That's completely different," Wolfram said, sounding defensive. "You're the king. It's my duty to protect you, no matter what the outcome. My life belongs to you."

"Being king doesn't automatically make _my_ life worth more than yours, or anyone else's. It's just a title. In the end, we're all the same"

"But who's supposed to take care of everyone if something happens to you?" the blond asked him. His emerald eyes narrowed a fraction, but Yuuri knew it wasn't in anger; it was to keep the tears form filling them at such a thought. "I know that's the whole reason we got married today, but… but I'm not ready for that," he whispered, his voice filled with so much emotion the black haired man felt his heart twisting in his chest. "I'm not like you. I can't face something and go along with it like I was expecting it the whole time. If… if something happened to you, I… I don't know what I'd do."

"Wolfram…" Yuuri began, hating himself for making his friend feel as he was right now. "I'm sorry," he immediately apologized. "I'm stupid; I wasn't thinking," he said by way of explanation, though it wasn't exactly the truth. He _had_ been thinking, he just hadn't been very considerate to his best friend's feelings. "I'll stay here, okay? I'll even dance with you if that's what you want."

It was only a second or two before he realized that he could have worded that statement better, watching as Wolf's eyes narrowed even more, this time in anger, his face reddening in rage.

"I don't want your pity!" he spat harshly, backing up a step, looking at the king as if he couldn't believe he'd say such a thing and be so heartless about it. "I don't care if you dance with me or not! Don't do it just to humor me!"

"Wolf, wait," the double black tried again, reaching out to grab onto one of his arms, preventing the blond from turning away from him.

"Let go of me!" the young prince demanded, struggling to pull his limb out of the king's grasp.

"Then stop and listen to me," Yuuri pleaded. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to pity you, I just thought that-"

"You're always sorry!"

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I know you've given up a lot for this - for me - and I'm sorry for seeming so inconsiderate."

"Apologies aren't going to fix anything," the fair haired demon told him. "I know you don't love me. I've accepted that. I know that none of this means much of anything to you."

"You're wrong!" Yuuri said, tightening his grip. "I do love you!" he blurted out before he could think better of it. "Just… not the way you want me to."

"And that's the whole problem, isn't it?" Wolfram wondered pitifully, momentarily ceasing his struggles to glance up at the taller male. "I'd be lying if I said that was enough."

"Then what do you want me to do?" Yuuri replied with a question of his own, looking troubled as he tried to sort everything out. But like the other demon had said, it wasn't enough, and he dreaded the thought that it never would be, that they'd spend the rest of their lives tangled up in this mess that had been created by one careless slap. "I can't force myself to…"

"I know that," the green eyed noble assured him, "and I don't want you to. I don't want you to love me because you feel guilty. That's why we're here tonight, right? Because you were too guilty to turn me down, and I was too… too weak and selfish to give up on you."

"Wolfram…" he breathed, slowly releasing the hold he had on his arm.

"Don't say anything," the pale skinned young man told him, shaking his head again. "It's true. If I were stronger, if I were a better man, I would have been able to let you go. Instead I've tied you down and kept you from doing what you want."

"I agreed to this, too."

"But your reasons weren't selfish like mine are. I didn't do this for the kingdom," he confessed, voice still low in the shadows of the hall, unheard by the guards who still kept a close eye on the two of them. "I did this for myself. I did this because I want to be with you. I've told you before, I'll do anything," he reiterated a past statement. "I'd lie, or cheat, or kill for you."

"Wolf," Yuuri tried to interrupt his speech a second time, but had no more success than he had in his first attempt.

"I'm a fool; I know I am. I let my feelings control me, instead of thinking objectively. I've always been like that, and even though I know that, I can't change. I always act like such a child," he went on, frowning at his own behavior. "I keep hoping that one day you'll grow to love me the way I love you, even though, deep down, I know you never will. When your mother gave me this ring, I was so happy," he held up his left hand for both of them to glance down at the piece of jewelry in question, one Yuuri had seen gracing his finger for the past week, but hadn't conversed with him about, knowing exactly where it had come from.

Looking at it made him feel a little awkward, but he hadn't voiced any negative thoughts on the fact that Wolfram seemed to enjoy wearing it. It was important to his mother and, obviously, to his friend as well.

"It made me think, for a little while, that I actually stood a chance.," the blond continued. "But I know that's just wishful thinking. You want a woman, and I can't be that. So…" he paused, peering up at his dark haired counterpart. "I won't bother you anymore. I won't try to force you to care when you really don't. The only thing I want is for you to act like you give a damn, just this once. _Make_ this wedding seem real to the people who've traveled all this way to be here tonight. They don't need to know that there isn't anything between us."

It was only then that Yuuri realized that to some people this wasn't merely a marriage of necessity. For the last month, Lady Celi and the others had been preparing for this as if it were a true, honest-to-goodness wedding. They'd set it up so that their enemies, as well as the least trusting of their allies, wouldn't see it for what it truly was and think the Great Demon Kingdom vulnerable or it's king unable to function. If anyone were to ever discovered just how worried the king and his advisers were about the state of their kingdom, such information could easily be used to Cimaron's advantage.

Wolfram was right, then, when he made the claims that he would have to stay and leave the incident in Fane in the capable hands of his advisers and their men. He running off now would look suspicious, especially after he'd already spent a good deal of the evening sitting by himself and having absolutely no interaction with the man who was supposed to be his husband. Returning to the ballroom as Conrad had requested not even fifteen minutes ago, and going about his business with a pleased smile on his face was the only thing he could do to prevent any kind of adverse rumors from spreading.

"_The demon king is weak," _he could already hear them saying, whispering to one another behind raised hands in order to hide the movements of their mouths. _"He can't rule on his own. He has no intention of seeing to his duties and protecting his people. That's why he married, so someone else can take his place and do his work for him."_

"_We're heading towards ruin."_

"Okay," Yuuri was quick to remove such thoughts from his mind, and accepted the fact that at least for one night he'd have to put his worries and concerns aside in order to appease everyone else's. "You're right, Wolfram. I wasn't thinking," he said with another sigh. "Let's go back."

The blond nodded in agreement, his features instantly relaxing as Yuuri acquiesced without putting up more of a fight. Even though Wolfram had admitted to agreeing to this marriage as a way of satisfying his own wants, he was still sticking by his duty as the prince, and as a protector of the kingdom. For a short moment, Yuuri could only stand there and admire how much his friend had matured over the years.

The nineteen year old demon king watched as the boy he'd married turned to head back down the hall, towards the doors that led into the crowded room they'd previously exited, the bright lights from within spilling out. Yuuri followed after him, and reached out to reestablish his hold on his upper arm, pulling him back a couple of steps before he could cross over the threshold. Wolfram looked up at him curiously, and with just the tiniest bit of hope shining in his vibrant green eyes, causing Yuuri's chest to tighten even more, not wanting to let him down, but unwilling to face change.

This was all too much for him, the wedding, the hordes of oblivious, smiling people, the sudden attack, the arguments and the constant misunderstandings, and his erratically shifting emotions.

"Hold on," he entreated, pulling the pale boy closer, not wanting to give anyone the opportunity to hear what he had to say. "Just hear me out for a second, please. There's something… there's something I have to say, even though it probably won't make anything better."

"What is it?" his friend asked, truly curious.

"I meant what I said a few weeks ago, about how I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else but you," Yuuri said, forcing himself to calm down and keep from stuttering, a determined look hardening his dark eyes. "I know sometimes it seems like I'm being inconsiderate and taking advantage of you and your feelings, but I'm grateful. I probably wouldn't have been able to stand up there with that priest today if you had been anyone else."

"You don't have to say all this to make me feel better. I'll be fine."

"But I mean it!" he continued forcefully. "I don't know what I feel right now or how I'll feel in the future, but it means everything to me to know that you'd do this for me. You're the best friend I've ever had, and you've done more than I could have ever asked of you. If there was anyway I could somehow make this easier for you, for us, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but… I… I can't… I can't promise you anything. I don't want to lie to you. You don't deserve that from me, not after everything else I've put you through. I just… I just want you to be happy… that's all."

It was silent for a few seconds as they stood there staring at one another, Yuuri trying his best to make Wolfram understand and Wolfram carefully absorbing the information he'd just been given. As the silence stretched - occasionally interrupted by a burst of drunken giggles or a loud comment made by those in the room they were just about to re-enter - Yuuri began to think that maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all.

A wave of relief washed through his system when the corners of Wolfram's lips quirked into a tiny smile. He could still pick out the trace of sadness that had yet to go away - and probably wouldn't for quite some time - but at least, for once, he'd said the right thing, and had gotten the reaction he desired.

Wolfram said nothing in return to his admittance, but the smile remained as they once again made their way back to the ballroom, and when a small, pale hand slipped into his own just as they crossed in, Yuuri didn't flinch or shy away. He held on to it, just as he had throughout the entirety of the ceremony earlier that evening, and he managed a light squeeze of reassurance as more than a few people turned to bow deeply towards them. He knew that his words hadn't been what the other boy wanted most to hear from him, but at least they had served their purpose, and temporarily eased the guilt that had previously been churning in his gut.

He didn't know how long it would take him to fix everything, or even if he could, nor did he know how many months or years would pass before he found out exactly what it was he was feeling, but the most he could do was try.

He would try for Wolfram's sake, as well as his own. Right now that's all he could do.

* * *

Hooves thundered against the dirt paths that snaked through the countryside, the only sound that reached the ears of the traveling troop of soldiers and medics. They'd set out from the palace at a swift gallop, speeding through the night in an effort to reach the village and citizens in need.

The night was dark. The fireworks that had still been exploding overhead upon their departure, lighting up the sky in a rainbow of colors, had faded in the distance, no longer visible in the horizon. They saw only by torch light, the stars and glowing crescent moon hidden by thick clouds, black, threatening wisps that rumbled every few minutes, hinting at what was to come. The temperature had dropped to below average for this time of year, the gales blowing against them reminiscent of the winds of late autumn or early winter and not of late summer, prompting a few of the men to adjust their cloaks, pulling the material more securely around them.

No one spoke. A word had not been uttered between them since Yozak had come to them with the information, since they'd made a hasty retreat and left their young king and prince standing in the hallway.

'_Too young,'_ Lord von Voltaire was beginning to think, second guessing himself on the issue of their marriage, less confident in them than he had been when the idea had first been proposed.

If Gwendal had not been so used to deafening silence, he would have been disturbed by the lack of communication between himself and his companions. As it was, he had too many things on his mind at the moment to be even remotely bothered by the absence of speech, too concerned about what was now taking place to deem anything else important.

Already two of their villages had been subject to an attack by their human enemies: Latimer in Karbelnikoff and Soren in Voltaire. Fane made the third village to sustain damage in the last five months, and though Gwendal had known that tonight's celebration would give Cimaron ample opportunity to surprise them with a raid, he hadn't thought Belar would move his forces so close to the capital and seek to invade their main territory. It was worrisome how the Cimaronian soldiers had propelled themselves into such close proximity to the castle, and the dark haired man could only pray that they refrained from moving any closer until they had time to prepare a defensive.

Out of the corner of his blue eyes, Gwendal could see the others riding beside him, each of them anxious to get to the scene of the ambush as quickly as possible, in the hopes of pushing Cimaron back and reclaiming their land, and preventing any more needless casualties than there no doubt already were. Yozak lead the way a couple of paces ahead, along with the soldier who'd originally come to him with the distressing news. Mikhail rode to Gwendal's right, Conrart to his left, spurring their horses faster, though the poor animals were already going as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Gisela had been summoned along with many others nurses and aides, and the green haired woman was close behind them, still in her satin evening gown. She hadn't taken the time to change into her uniform before leaving, too focused on her duty to waste even a minute before setting out, and had bounded on her horse as if she rode every day while so elegantly clothed, more concerned about wounded civilians than her current state of dress. She had a satchel of herbs by her side, hastily picked from the gardens in the midst of their embarkation.

Noting the look on her face, which mirrored the dark, serious expressions presently being worn by every member of their party, Gwendal internally told himself that it was good that none of them had allowed the king to talk them into warranting him accompanying them. Not only would it have been much to dangerous for their monarch, but some of those in their group would have likely placed a certain amount of blame onto the black haired man's shoulders. Even Gwendal was having a hard time warding off thoughts of a similar nature, and he found himself cursing the boy in his mind, angry over the disregard he'd shown in the last couple of months.

Yuuri was truthfully one of the better kings in their long line of monarchs; he'd brought about a change that many among them and abroad had hoped for, but had not thought possible. He was compassionate to the common man, trusting to his allies - whether they gave him reason to trust them or not - willing to work with others to better the lives of his own citizens and those living in other parts of the world. He had done more things in his short reign than what Gwendal had thought him capable of in a lifetime, and was still working towards strengthening the tenuous relationship between the demon tribe and the humans.

Over the recent year, however, as much as Gwendal had come to respect him, his confidence in the younger man had been tested, and he found himself losing the optimism that His Majesty had built within him. He was a man of action, and there was only so much waiting he could do, only so much peaceful diplomacy he could engage in before their failed attempts at talking left him with the desire to draw his sword and use force as a means to solve their problems with the humans who still sided against them.

He would agree with the king on the idea that wars caused suffering, and that the world would be a better place if such heartless violence was put to an end, but he also knew that there were instances in which they had no other alternative. The events that took place twenty-four years ago were a good example of a senseless war, one Stoffel had instigated through the prejudices that had, at one time, plagued all of them. Even now they were still paying for it. Their armies, their lands, and their people had yet to completely recover from the battles that had seen the end of hundreds of thousands of lives, demon and human alike.

But now… now there was a need for their armies, a cause more worthy to fight for than hatred and ignorance. They were under attack, and their people needed to be protected.

So far His Majesty had done nothing. All the while they'd been continuously reporting to the king about every event that took place regarding the human troops along their borders, and though the double black was rightly concerned about their situation, he remained convinced that they would still be able to find a peaceful solution, claiming that attacking Belar would not solve anything, and steadfastly refusing to sign a Declaration of War.

Gwendal was not normally a patient man, but he'd allowed His Majesty the time to search for that all elusive "peaceful answer," only to be disappointed when none was found, both at the king for being unable to make the discovery and at himself for permitting things to get this far. The king's kind words had worked plenty of times before, it was true, but they all should have known better when dealing with Cimaron. Belar would never listen, no matter how much the young demon king shouted and begged him to put an end to his evil ways. The only way to win against the king of Cimaron was to crush him completely.

The hour long ride to the north seemed much shorter than it was while these kinds of thoughts were on his mind, leading him to an anger he had not felt towards the twenty-seventh king since the boy had first arrived, and a frustration towards himself that caused his blood to boil in his veins. He should have suspected that something like this would happen, should have realized that there was only so much His Majesty's kindness could do before the world became immune to it. They all should have learned that there were some in the world who's hunger for power and control outweighed their sense of right and wrong.

'_I should have done something sooner.'_

His anger only increased when they finally arrived at the scene, blue eyes widening slightly at the sickening sight that met them.

Their other villages, at least, had been able to hold off the attack long enough for a battalion of their own troops to arrive and force Cimaron back, saving their homes and businesses from any major damage. In Latimer, only 18 civilians had been killed, along with three soldiers; thirty-seven had been injured, nine seriously, with only six families left homeless when their houses had been burned to the ground. The destruction in Soren had been slightly worse, with twenty-eight dead, forty injured, and fifteen families displaced. It could have been worse. Soren and Latimer had been lucky, despite their loses.

Nothing could compare to what they saw in Fane.

"Dear Great One, help us," Gwendal heard Mikhail's breathless exclamation from behind him, and the Chief of State could not help but think that they were beyond any form of help.

If he hadn't known that this was supposed to be a village, he wouldn't have been able to tell it apart from a pile of rubble.

There were hardly any buildings left standing, and those that had been lucky enough to stay upright were covered in red hot flames, smoke and ash rising into the cool night air. It was no longer possible to distinguish a family dwelling from a shop, or a church from a pub. There was nothing left of the structures but charred wood, the glass from the windows littering the ground, broken into a million shards, the bricks from chimneys split and crushed. There was not a single building suitable to live in. Everything had been destroyed.

The scent of death filled the air, strong and pungent, causing many to raise their hands to cover the lower halves of their faces, though the smell still reached their noses, prompting the desire to retch. Bodies were scattered everywhere, corpses that had no hope of ever seeing the light of day again. Some of them were blackened, burned by the fires that took their homes, unidentifiable now as any living being. Most of the women lay in tattered clothing, bleeding from places where they should never have to feel so much pain, stripped of their virtue and dignity before being sent to the afterlife, bruised and broken, tortured before finally being granted an end to their suffering.

The men had been mutilated, some of them missing limbs, others cut open so that their innards spilt out along the ground. A few still clutched swords in their hands, having been killed in their futile attempts to fight back. Many had fallen with their eyes still wide open, staring into the heavens, their faces twisted in masks of agony. There were none among them wearing the standard uniform of the Cimaronian army. All of the deceased were peasants, farmers and shopkeepers, none of them soldiers, none of them able to protect themselves or their fellow man.

Though it was a horrible sight to behold, worse than any he'd seen in the recent years, what angered Lord von Voltaire the most and left him feeling sick with the strong taste of bile rising in the back of his throat, were the miniature bodies floating in the water of a nearby stream.

They hadn't even spared the children.

"Look at this place," one of the soldiers in their group breathed, unable to turn way. "It's a massacre."

That it was. There was not a soul sifting through the debris or crying out in anguish for the loss of their loved ones.

No one had been left alive.

"Who could have done this?" Mikhail von Karbelnikoff wondered, sliding from his saddle as his eyes continued to scan the carnage before them. "Belar couldn't have possibly gotten a force big enough to cause this level of destruction over our borders without us noticing."

Whispers began to spread through their men at that statement, many a hardened soldier speaking with a hint of panic in their voices.

"What does this mean?"

"They didn't have any warning."

"Cimaron is going to wage war on us, I just know it."

"How could they kill so many people?"

"Where are they now? What if they strike again?"

"How can the king just sit back and let this happen? Why didn't he do something to prevent this?"

"His Majesty _let_ them attack us!"

"Silence!" Gwendal bellowed, terminating their speech before they could continue any further with those sorts of thoughts. "I want everyone to begin looking for survivors," he said, though he had his own set of doubts, ones that told him such a task was useless. "Keep on alert. The enemy may still be out there."

"Yes, sir!" the military men responded, raising their hands in a quick salute before moving to follow the orders that had been given to them, separating into smaller groups and searching through all sections of the village.

Gwendal held back, letting his eyes scan over the scene a second time, slowly dismounting as he did so. Rage was quick to engulf him, burning like the fires still crackling around them, his sapphire orbs narrowing dangerously as his lips set themselves into a deep frown. _'His Majesty let this happen,'_ his thoughts mirrored those that had been voiced by a soldier just a few seconds ago. _'He and his weak ideals. His desire to talk to Belar has put our country in jeopardy.'_

The thunder that had been resounding off and on throughout their journey was beginning to pick up strength, and the cool breeze carried with it the scent of rain to mingle with that of smoke and death. A flash of lightning erupted in the horizon, the dark, ominous clouds shifting as the distant storm moved closer, a perfect backdrop for what they now faced.

"We haven't seen devastation like this in a good while," Yozak observed, coming to stand beside the older, dark haired man.

"How can you speak so casually?!" Lord von Karbelnikoff asked him, body tense with worry and brown eyes narrowed with an anger he was usually so adept at hiding. "Look at what's happened! An entire village, _gone_, without any clue as to who did this and how they managed to evade our sight!!"

"I'm not making light of the situation, Your Excellency, just stating a simple fact," the orange haired spy replied. "This doesn't look like Belar's work," he added, electric blue eyes peering around.

"Are you suggesting it was someone else?" Conrart queried, stepping down from his own horse, seeming a bit out of place in his blue dress uniform, but no less prepared for action than usual, half paying attention to the conversation, half paying attention to their surroundings.

"It's a possibility. We haven't detected any movement from Cimaron's army since Belar went to play nice with the king of Isidore," Yozak explained, far more serious than he would be on any other occasion. "Of course, we've been so focused on making sure Cimaron stays put that there's a chance someone else managed to sneak their men in."

Mikhail looked startled at that idea, his eyes wide, red hair blowing in the wind. "We've allowed ourselves to become distracted."

"So it would seem."

"Has there been any suspicious activity in any of the other human countries recently?" Conrart questioned again.

"Besides the fall of Francia and a resistance group that's sprouted up in Caloria, everyone else has been surprisingly quiet. Belar's got half of his army stationed at our front door, and the other half is crossing over the mountains separating Francia from Cavalcade, but with the autumn and winter approaching he'd be a fool to try and move in any further. I'm sure we're all well aware that Belar is crazy, but he's no fool."

"Then who…?" the red haired aristocrat trailed off, as if he weren't expecting an answer, but had wanted to ask the question anyway.

"I don't know," Yozak said. "Whoever it was…" he paused, looking around once more. "Whoever it was used this as a warning."

The four of them grew quiet at that, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to make sense of the situation and come up with ideas to determine who was responsible and explain how they'd managed to cross into demon tribe lands undetected. True, they had all been distracted over the recent months; the Aristocrats joining together for the first time in two decades had been on the minds of everyone, as had the evening's wedding. However, Gwendal couldn't believe that they'd been so focused on such things as to completely miss something this dire and important. They should have at least had some type of warning, some sort of hint to their enemy's intentions, whether it was Cimaron or not.

And what if Yozak was correct in assuming that Belar had nothing to do with this? Who else could have been so bold as to sneak into their country and massacre an entire village in the dead of night, while the rest of their people celebrated the union of their king and prince? How had they managed to get so close without being spotted by someone? The Great Demon Kingdom had soldiers and spies stationed in almost every village, who should have been alerted to this kind of suspicious activity. Who would do something so repulsive, so heinous, as mutilating hundreds of men, women, and children? Even Belar could not possibly be so evil, could he?

Lord von Voltaire's thoughts were disrupted by a faint sound off to his right, bringing his eyes to glance in the direction of a house that had long collapsed in on itself. A few bodies were piled in front of it, left to rot in the doorway, skin half burned and smudged with blood and dirt. At first he thought he'd been imagining things, or perhaps he'd heard the noise created by one of the soldiers as he sifted through the debris in another house nearby, but when he let his eyes trail to a small figure a few feet from the pile of corpses, he saw a little hand twitch, then move. A whimper met his ears then, soft and filled with the pain of a child, hurt but blessedly alive.

"Over there," he said to the others, directing their attention to the tiny person. Quickly he made his way over, followed closely by the other three, who seemed just as surprised and relieved as he was to see that someone was alive, albeit in bad condition. Carefully Gwendal eased himself down at the child's side, saying a silent prayer that it was not too late, and that at least one of these people could be saved.

Lord von Voltaire was not a heartless man. He was stern, often times aloof, could seem cold and distant, but he was in no way cruel towards those who were not deserving of his anger. He looked at everything seriously, and did not usually allow himself to be carried away by extreme emotions; he'd spent a great deal of his life conditioning himself to hide his thoughts and feelings so that his enemies would have little to use against him. He allowed himself only a few attachments, so as not to bring harm upon himself and others. It was better this way, less dangerous for everyone, and it had helped to keep him sane during terrible hardships.

But like every living being, he had a weakness: all things cute, and children. He supposed the two went hand in hand, really, as most children were adorable - he'd never in his life seen a truly ugly child - and played with adorable things. It angered him beyond imagination to see life's most precious things tarnished and destroyed. Things like this, children beaten and little bodies floating in the water, made him question peoples' sanity. He had taken many lives in his time, more than he could ever hope to count or even remember, but he had never once laid a hand on or raised his sword against a child.

The young one he knelt next to now couldn't have been more than fifty years old, perhaps even younger, smaller than Greta had been when His Majesty had taken her in. This child was a boy with straight dirty blond hair, matted and caked with dried blood, and teal eyes that fluttered open dully. His skin had paled as his life slowly drained away from him, white against the dirt he rested against, bleeding profusely from a wound on his side, his left arm bent at an odd angle, his bottom lip swollen and split. Death was reaching out to him, waiting to circle him in it's dark embrace.

Gwendal schooled his features into a mask of calm, not wishing to frighten the boy, knowing he'd already been through more in one night than in all the years passed. The tiny blond looked up at him, confused for a moment before the pain finally registered and tears welled in his eyes, a pitiful wail escaping cracked lips. Pushing down the anger he felt for whoever had done this, Gwendal checked him over for any other wounds as quickly as possible, barely hearing Conrart's voice as he called out for Gisela, who had gone to help the soldiers in their search.

"Mama…" the child whimpered, face twisting in the effort to speak louder. "Mama! Where's Mama?"

"I don't know where your mother is," the gray-black haired man replied, keeping his voice from sounding harsh. He didn't have the heart to tell the boy that his mother was most likely dead. "But we're hear to help you," he reassured him. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Alexei," the child croaked dismally. "Alexei Lowell."

"What happened here?" Gwendal tried, guilt entering him at the sight of fresh tears, falling harder now than they had been. "You don't have to be afraid. You're safe."

"They hurt Mama!" Alexei wailed, the sound attracting the attention of a few more soldiers, who gathered around to stare down at him sadly. "They hurt Papa, and then they hurt Mama! I could hear her screaming!"

"Who? Who hurt them?"

"Bad people. The bad people came when I was asleep. They broke the door and came into the house. Papa… Papa took Grandpa's sword out of the case and tried to stop them, but… but he couldn't. He got stabbed, and then the bad people pulled Mama and my sister and me out of the house."

"What were the bad people wearing?" Conrart joined in the questioning, and the words he spoke were gentle, sensitive to his fear and pain.

"Armor. Like soldiers. But they weren't nice soldiers at all. They were mean," the boy replied, groaning when his arm shifted, and Gwendal knew it must surely have been broken. "They had swords, and they used a torch to make our house catch fire. Papa was still inside when it started to burn."

"What color were their uniforms? Could you tell?"

"I… I don't…" again he groaned, drops of saline still streaming down his pallid cheeks. After a short moment he made a chocking noise, and a thin stream of blood seeped out of his mouth at the corner and trailed down his chin.

"It's alright," Gwendal said before he could try to speak again. "You don't have to talk. Save your strength."

Again someone called out for Gisela, another soldier running off to find her in the ruins.

"It… it was dark," Alexei spoke anyway, his breathing becoming labored, blue-green eyes haunted with memories. "It was hard to see. I don't remember if they had a lot of colors or not. But… their clothes… their clothes looked black."

"Black? Not gray and yellow?" von Voltaire asked, describing the uniforms most commonly worn by the men serving as officers under the rule of Cimaron.

The demon child shook his head slowly. "No. Black."

That was strange, if what the boy was saying held true, although there was a possibility that he'd mistaken some other dark color, such as blue or purple, for black when there was hardly any light to see by that was not scorching fire. Gwendal couldn't readily remember any country who's military men wore black uniforms. It was only worn by the king and others of equally high standing in the Great Demon Kingdom, and even though it did not hold the same symbolism in human countries, it was still rare for common soldiers to own clothing of that particular hue. The dyes used to achieve that color were much too expensive.

"They took me and Nanette away from Mama," Alexei was still talking, jarring Gwendal back out of his thoughts, "but I could… I could still hear her. I knew they were hurting her, and I tried to run and save her, but one of them held my arm and made it hurt. He wouldn't let go." A sob escaped him. "I watched them take some of my friends and lock them into the school house. Kallen was thrown in there. We always play together after lessons."

"Where is the school house?" Mikhail asked, and it was clear by the sound of his voice that he was hoping to find more survivors there.

Alexei lifted his good arm to point towards a building some distance away, and those hopes were instantly dashed.

There was nothing left of it but ashes and a few charred pieces of wood.

"Then they… they took Nanette, my sister… they took her to the stream. It tried to stop them. I told them she couldn't swim, but they didn't listen. They laughed and threw her in the water anyway," he continued, his tiny, abused body wracked with sobs. "Mama and Papa never let me take her out to the stream unless they're with us, but… the bad people didn't care. They threw all the little kids and the babies into the water!!"

Gwendal's teeth clenched tightly, and he had to struggle not to let his anger show on his face or let out a growl of frustration. "You don't have to say anymore."

"I tried to save Nanette, I tried!!"

"There's nothing you could have done. It's not your fault."

"Am I going to die, too?" the boy asked, looking up at the dark haired man entreatingly, as if begging him to keep that from happening.

Von Voltaire didn't know the answer to that question. "You're safe now," he said instead, repeating one of his statements from earlier. "Those people are gone. They won't hurt you again." Or at least he hoped that was the case. He had no idea where they were presently or if they planned to attack again before their party could make it back to the palace.

"I don't want to die!"

"You shouldn't be afraid of death. There were people in the afterlife who will take care of you."

"Is that where the Great One is?" Alexei wondered quietly, and when no one replied - too surprised by his question to do so - he spoke again. "Mama said he always watches over us, even if no one can hear him anymore. Is that true?"

"I'm sure it is," Gwendal said, though it was a lie. There was no telling what had happened to the Original King's soul once the boxes had been destroyed, and the Chief of State was in no position to make or deny any theories.

"Your Excellency!!" Gisela's voice was a welcome sound, as were the pounding of her feet against the ground as she rushed over, carrying her satchel of herbs. Immediately she fell to her knees by Alexei's side, her evening gown ruined by a few grass stains and tears she'd sustained while searching through the ruble. She looked over his wounds, careful with his broken arm, and once she was sure she'd found all of them she began the task of healing.

"The wound in his side is deep and he's lost a lot of blood," she stated, a green light enveloping her hands as she placed them over the gash, using her magic to lessen the pain and speed up the healing process. "He'll need stitches. His arm will have to be put into a cast."

"Am I going to die?" Alexei asked her as well, bottom lip trembling with terror.

Gisela smiled at him softly, reassuring him as best as she could. "I'm going to do the best I can to make you all better, okay? All I want you to do is lay still and tell me if it hurts anywhere else," she replied, then turned to glance at the man currently in charge. "We'll have to move him somewhere warm, Your Excellency, once I'm able to stabilize his condition."

"Take him to the castle. There's nothing left for him here."

The green haired woman nodded before returning to the task at hand.

Figuring there was nothing left for him to do and no other questions he could ask to make any more sense of what had happened here tonight, Gwendal began to stand to his feet, intent on putting together a small search party to go over the surrounding area in an attempt to find any other clues. He stopped, however, when a little hand raised up to grab onto his own, sapphire eyes peering down at the weakened child, who stared up at him with the most heartbreaking look on his face.

"I tried," Alexei told him in a quiet whisper, and it was a miracle he was as composed as he was, crying silently instead of bawling after his nightmarish experience. "I tried. I really did."

Gwendal knew he should have attempted to force at least a small smile, for the child's sake if nothing else, but he'd never been very good at it before, and could not make himself look happy when he felt so angry. "No one blames you," he said anyway, lightly squeezing the tiny hand before releasing it, turning away and letting Gisela continue with her work.

Looking around once again, the dark haired Aristocrat walked away from the small group that had gathered around the tiny boy, taking a walk through the rest of the village and letting his gaze trail over the wreckage that surrounded him. He supposed they should feel lucky that there was one survivor, as it did not appear as if their enemies had meant to leave anyone alive to tell their tale of the night's events, though he knew there was a chance the child would not make it through the night. Those responsible had done all they could to get their point across, and they had greatly succeeded.

'_Death to the demon tribe.'_

This had been no ordinary attack, not an act of violence instigated by the troubles of war. This was an act of hatred, exacted by those of the other race as a means of striking fear into the hearts of their countrymen. News of the raid would spread with the rising of the sun, and the demon tribe citizens would be forced to forget their joyous celebrations as they became aware of the bloodshed in Fane. Some would panic, some would seek revenge, and the Great Demon Kingdom would be thrown into a chaos that would not be calmed until those in power did something to rectify the situation. Gwendal could already imagine the shouting and rioting that would surely occur.

He was barely aware of his half-human half-brother coming up beside him, too focused on his thoughts, trying to come up with a plan, anything to fix this and lessen the severity of the peoples' reaction. His eyes had trailed to the remains of what had once been a child's stuffed animal, left on the ground a yard or two away from the school house, perhaps dropped by one of the children as they'd been dragged inside. In his mind, Lord von Voltaire could hear them screaming, memories of the last war resurfacing, plaguing him as thunder still rumbled overhead. How had he let this happen? How could they have been so blind?

"How do you suppose His Majesty will react?" Conrart asked him, watching as the soldiers went about their work, finding nothing but more dead bodies.

Gwendal snorted, his heart hardening at the mention of their king. "You should know the answer to that better than I."

"Perhaps we should wait to inform him until we are able to gather more information."

The older man shook his head, turning to glare at the brown haired soldier. "And let him continue to live in his little fantasy world? This has gone on too long, Conrart! I will not let him ignore this issue any longer! I should have pushed harder when these sorts of things began to happen, but I was too soft on him! We've allowed him to grow weak."

"His Majesty has nothing to do with this."

"He has everything to do with this! If we had fought back at the first sign of trouble, no one would have had the opportunity to do something so heinous!!"

"You don't know that. This could have been planned months, even years ago, and by someone other than Cimaron," Conrart told him, narrowing his own eyes. "Yozak was correct in saying that this does not look like the work of Belar. If I know him half as well as I hope, the king of Cimaron is not capable of the kind of planning required to pull this sort of thing off. Even now many of his men are rebelling against him. I can't imagine they'd agree to murder so many innocent people in the name of a king they no longer trust and believe in completely."

"Even if they do not trust him, they'll follow him as long as be speaks out against the demon tribe. Their hatred for us greatly surpasses their hatred for him."

"That is true," the younger brunet agreed.

"And Belal may not be a superb strategist, but that does not mean he lacks friends who are. He could have easily coerced one of his allies into coming up with this act of tyranny. Machiavelli of Anselm is cunning and shrewd enough, and Balderic's forces are crafty."

"We cannot yet rule anyone else out."

"Of course not," Gwendal agreed. "As of now, everyone is suspect. Even some of our allies cannot be trusted. The peace agreements we have made with them are not perfect, and the relationships we've built could easily be compromised."

He didn't say it, but Lord von Voltaire knew that there was a possibility that there had been inside help, someone working within their borders and relaying information to their human leaders.

"Your Excellency!! Captain!!"

The two brothers ceased their conversation as their respective titles were called, looking up to watch as a pair of soldiers raced towards them with matching looks of concern marring their visages. They were dirty and appeared a little tired and disheveled from shifting through countless piles of debris, a few splotches of blood visible on their clothing. One of them, a youngster who'd probably only been serving for less than a year, held a rumpled sheet of parchment at hand, clutching it tightly to make sure it was not blown away by the steadily strengthening winds.

"What is it?" Gwendal asked as his long, dark ponytail began to sway, his loose bangs whipping about his stern face.

"We found this attached to one of the bodies, Your Excellency," the young soldier explained, holding out the piece of paper. "It's addressed to His Majesty."

Von Voltaire quickly snatched it away from him, holding it up for he and the half-human to read. His eyes widened as they scanned over the fluid human script, a heaviness weighing his shoulders down as his anger elevated ten fold.

"_To His Majesty Yuuri of the Great Demon Kingdom:_

_A wedding gift, selected with the utmost care, I now give to you_

_All dead are they, your men, your women, and your children, too_

'_Tis but a helpful hint for what's to come, and all I have in store_

_Long live the Demon King and his Demon Whore."_

Gwendal's frown deepened as he once again raised his gaze, though he refused to look at those around him, and stared instead into the horizon.

Perhaps they should have allowed His Majesty to join them after all. Maybe then he would have finally done something about the mess they'd found themselves in.

**TBC…**


	9. Rêver

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

By Mikage

**Chapter Nine - Rêver - To Dream  
**

It was late by the time the reception finally ended; too late for Yuuri's liking, but it would have been rude of him to leave his guests when he'd already isolated himself from them for a majority of the evening.

The midnight hour was upon them when the last of the drunken nobles made their way out of the hallway, laughing as they headed towards their rooms, intent on sleeping off the vast amounts of alcohol they'd consumed. Yuuri himself had seen his family off to bed, then went to make sure Greta was comfortable - at which point she had complained that he was still treating her like a little girl - before making his way to his own room, stumbling down the hall on tired feet, his eyes threatening to slide shut before he even arrived. It wasn't as if he were unused to staying up late into the evening, but the little sleep he'd gotten the previous day definitely wasn't helping him.

Wolfram was already in bed when he got there, clothed in his pink nightgown and curled up under the covers, dead to the world as he effortlessly tumbled off into dreamland, like this was any other normal night spent in the king's bed. Yuuri felt a little odd climbing in beside him after changing into his pajamas, unable to get his mind off of all that had happened today. He forcefully pushed those thoughts aside as he flopped down onto the mattress. The less he thought about it, the less stressed out he would be. It would be better not to make such a big deal out of the situation, and simply let things run their course.

They hadn't spoken much at all since their confrontation in the hallway, and though Yuuri was a bit glad for that, it didn't stop the guilt that was slowly returning, the regrets he'd been having for the past weeks. The wine he'd been drinking all night had helped to numb those emotions for a while, but now that it was beginning to wear off, and now that he didn't have anything to successfully distract himself with, they were coming back full force. Knowing that the source of such feelings was only about a foot or so away did nothing to comfort him, and he rolled over with his back facing the other boy in an attempt to not look at him.

He'd never felt so guilty for hurting someone before. Of course, he hadn't caused the blond any physical harm, but that didn't change the fact that Wolfram was upset. He'd put up a good front in the presence of everyone else, but Yuuri had been able to see the weariness in those green eyes, the defeated slump pf his shoulders, and how his once genuine smile - which he'd shown in the earlier hours of the reception - had become strained. The black haired boy wanted desperately to make things better, wanted to apologize and take all of his friend's anxieties away, but he knew that a simple apology wasn't going to do much of anything.

Wolfram didn't need an apology. He needed an answer from him, one way or the other. The only problem was, Yuuri didn't know which answer he should give.

There was no magical solution for this, as much as he wished there were. It would have been so much easier if he could just wave a magic wand and fix everything, or flip a switch and find all of the answers. He couldn't very well change Wolfram's feelings for him, nor could he change his feelings for Wolfram - whatever they were. Forcing himself to do something for the blond's sake would potentially make things worse, but making the boy wait any longer would be cruel, especially now that they were married.

'_But what can I do?'_ he asked himself, a heavy sigh breaking through the silence of the bedroom.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing but sort out his feelings - which was proving to be the most difficult task he'd ever had to undertake in his life - and hope that the end result would not hurt Wolfram even more.

It was a long time before sleep claimed him, pulling him into the comforting dark void of unconsciousness, where his worries melted away and the problems currently facing him no longer mattered. He drifted in the darkness for what seemed like hours, though it could have been minutes; it was hard to tell just how much time was passing while one slept. It was as if the world had come to a complete stop. There was no light, no sound, no sense of touch or smell, just peaceful emptiness, enveloping him in it's embrace, taking him away from all that troubled him, allowing his mind and weary soul the opportunity to rest.

Until the dreams came.

Normally he dreamt of pointless, mundane things, baseball games that he would either win or loose, trips into town, childhood birthday parties or long hours spent at school. Occasionally a nightmare would come up to disrupt the endless cycle, dreams of fire, of Conrad loosing his arm, leaving him behind, dreams of falling down a deep chasm in the earth with no one there to catch him and pull him back up. Other times he'd dream of being alone, walking through the darkness that was sleep, calling out for his friends and family, but unable to find them.

Tonight, the pictures that flashed through his head weren't necessarily different from those brought on by normal nightmares. It was the sounds and voices accompanying them that disturbed him.

He was standing alone in the middle of blackness. There was no illumination, save for a column of white beaming down upon him like a spotlight, and when he moved it followed him, though it did nothing to help him see beyond a foot in front of him. At first he couldn't hear anything, not even his own heavy breathing, labored as he anticipated what was to come, a small part of him knowing that this was no ordinary dream. A tingle ran down his spine, and he turned his head from side to side in response, looking around but seeing nothing that should cause him to feel so uneasy. He wondered for a moment if he should even waste his time worrying, sensing nothing that posed any sort of threat.

He paused in his walking when his right foot sunk into something thick and warm, liquid oozing between his toes and rising to his ankle, soaking the hem of his blue pajama pants. Immediately he gazed down, only to gasp and quickly step backwards as he caught sight of the pool of blood, a splotch of red against infinite shadow. His foot was covered, stained, making scarlet footprints as he took a few extra steps back, onyx eyes widening as the blood spread out and seemed to follow him, moving closer as he continued his futile effort to get away, until both feet were submerged in the substance.

"_Yuuri…"_ a voice whispered to him then, sounding vaguely familiar, though he was not able to place exactly where he'd heard it before. He looked around again in the hopes that he could find it's source, squinting in the direction from which it had come - to his left.

"_Yuuri…"_

Behind him this time, and he swung around quickly, as if whoever it was would disappear before he was able to see them, and when he looked the space behind him was empty. He had no way of knowing if anyone had been there at all.

"_Yuuri…"_

"Who are you?!" he asked, swiftly becoming frustrated. The voice sounded as if it were coming from all directions now, echoing in the emptiness of the void he was currently caught in. "What do you want?! What is this?!"

He received no answer.

Slowly the darkness around him began to shift and ripple. A blur of colors took it's place, the pillar of light around him fading away as the scene began to change. He wasn't able to make out anything clearly, and it seemed as if he were gazing through a thick fog, one that was dissipating at a snail's pace. His other senses, however, were working far better than his vision; he could hear the crackling of fire, could feel it's heat licking at him, sweat breaking out along his brow and dampening his night clothes. He could smell ash, smoke entering his nose as he breathed, filling his lungs and eliciting a harsh cough. He brought one of his hands up to his face, like that could prevent him from inhaling anymore.

The picture suddenly sharpened, the fog vanishing, and he found himself standing in the middle of a village square, the buildings on all sides of him burning and toppling over. People were running around, screaming in terror and fleeing from an enemy that was no more than shadows, black shapes that floated after them, laughing at and taunting them as they dragged them to the ground and cut off their wails with the deliverance of death. Corpses lined the streets, hundreds of them, some piled on top of one another, left burned and rotting, every single pair of eyes trained on him, dull and lifeless.

Yuuri suppressed the reflex to turn around and retch, averting his eyes as he moved to run, bare feet slapping against the cobblestones of the streets, stinging with every impact as he tried to get away. He turned a corner, then another, then another, looking for a way out of this madness, but there was no end to the destruction, no end to the line of bodies. Debris fell around him, hot flames dancing in the air, coming close to burning him as he stumbled around. He was lost in this maze of death and despair, didn't know where he was or what was going on, only that he couldn't stand to see much more of this without becoming violently ill.

Turning onto a narrow street to his right, the young king halted as a hand shot out and grabbed hold of his ankle, which was still stained by blood. He flailed for a moment, then cried out as he slammed into the ground, his breath forced from his lungs. Looking down, he let out a startled shout at the sight of one of the corpses clutching at his limb, holding on tight enough to leave a ring of bruises. He kicked at it wildly, but the hand refused to budge; his efforts only seemed to instigate a tighter grip, and a lightning bolt of pain shot from his ankle up his leg. He could have sworn he heard the cracking and crunching of bone.

"_It's your fault!"_ someone shouted, different that the voice from before, louder, accusing, drowning out the sound of the fire and crumbling houses. _"Your fault!"_ a hundred different voices seemed to say at once, angry and betrayed. _"You did this! You! You!"_

"I don't understand! What is this?!" he asked again, heart pounding in his chest as his movements to release his foot stilled.

"_This is what will become of the world. All of it will fall to ruin."_

"Why? What's going on?!"

"_War,"_ one voice said. It sounded so close, like something was whispering in his ear, warm breath tickling the side of his face, but when he looked there was nothing there.

"But there is no war! I won't let there be a war!"

"_Hate,"_ someone else said, as if they hadn't heard what he'd just finished saying.

"This doesn't make any sense!" he shouted, his head beginning to hurt, his mind spinning as he tried to comprehend all of this. "What does that have to do with anything?!"

"_Everything."_

Then the world around him shattered at that single word, a million shards of glass scattering around him, only to disappear once they hit the ground. One by one the mangled corpses faded away, leaving him alone on the street, before the ground opened up below him and his fell into the rift, watching as it closed up above him.

He didn't fall for long. It was only a few seconds before he crashed into another solid surface, his eyes squeezing shut as pain shot through his entire body, his head snapping back and colliding with a stone floor. He saw stars for a moment, and his head ached even more as he slowly pushed himself up, wincing as his strained muscles twinged. A second passed before he was able to open his eyes, and when he did he was a little surprised by his new surroundings.

He was in his room, the one he'd taken up residence in since he first came to the Great Demon Kingdom, the private bed chambers of the Demon King. It was dark, still nighttime, but it seemed different that it had when he'd climbed into bed. The curtains were now open, allowing the light of the large full moon to spill in, it's beams illuminating the large canopy bed with it's green drapes tied to each bedpost. The air was cold, and he could hear the wind blowing outside, rustling the leaves in the trees, howling as it beat against the enormous stone palace.

None of the candles were on, but he could see just fine without them, although certain parts of the room were shrouded in darkness where the moonlight couldn't reach. The bed was completely empty, although the bedclothes were rumpled, pillows askew, and blood stained the white silken sheets a sickening crimson. He didn't look at it long, not wanting to know who's it was or how it had come to be there, though in his mind he thought all sorts of disgusting things, violent images that he tried to force away. He didn't want to think like that, didn't want to have to envision anything so awful.

Gazing around, he noted that everything else seemed normal and in it's proper place, except it was devoid of any people - besides himself, that is.

That didn't mean he couldn't hear anything.

There was a scuffle in the corner to his left, but when he turned to look there was nobody there, just as there had been at almost every other point in this bizarre nightmare.

A man chuckled, an amused laugh that he did not recognize as belonging to anyone he knew.

"_Stop struggling and we won't have to hurt you."_

"_Let me go!!"_ That was Greta, crying hysterically.

"Greta!!" he tried calling out to her, even though he had a pretty good feeling he wouldn't be answered.

He was surprised, then, when someone called his name. _"Yuuri!!"_ Wolfram this time, voice filled with barely contained fear and panic. _"Yuuri!!"_

"_Your King isn't here to save you,"_ another voice taunted, chuckling darkly. _"He doesn't love you, doesn't want you. He abandoned all of you, left you all alone."_

"That's not true!" Yuuri tried once more. "I didn't leave! I'm right here! Wolfram! Greta!"

The man who'd spoken to Greta grunted then, and the black haired boy could hear the pitter-pattering of feet against the floor. The wooden door to his left burst open seconds later, startling him with it's suddenness.

"_Grab her!"_ the one who'd been talking to Wolfram demanded as the princess began to shout out in the hallway. _"Help!! Someone, help!! Guards!!"_

"Greta!" Yuuri said her name a third time, moving to follow. He stumbled through the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, anyone, only to gasp when he found that he'd returned to the black void he'd started in. Turning, he watched as the door slowly closed, it's hinges creaking the entire way. It clicked shut just as one final, bloodcurdling scream met his ears, and it brought tears to his eyes to know who it was.

Wolfram…

"_Your fault,"_ the strange voices from before were whispering again, angry and full of hatred that could barely be kept in check.

"No…" he denied, but it was weak, and he no longer sounded as if he were too sure of himself.

In his mind he knew this was nothing more than a dream, a figment of his imagination, something his subconscious had spawned from all the issues that were troubling him presently. He knew none of this was real, that whatever had been going on inside of the room he'd just exited hadn't truly happened. As soon as he woke up, everything would return back to normal. That did not, however, stop his heart from hurting, or his stomach from twisting up into tight knots as the memories of what he'd seen and heard so far came back to him. Even if it wasn't real, it has still seemed as if it were, and it frightened him.

He fell to his knees on the ground below him, taking deep breaths as he attempted to gain control over himself. His arms wrapped around his upper body, as if to protect him from whatever else he would have to face, and he had to try very hard to keep his tears at bay. He wanted to wake up, he didn't want to see anymore, not if it was only going to get worse. There had already been too much blood, too much pain, and too much death. Anymore and he'd surely be sick, anymore and he'd snap, anymore and he'd go crazy with anger and rage.

The voices still whispering to him did nothing to make him feel any better. What was even worse than the ones continuously repeating "your fault," where the ones overlapping them, the voices of his friends and family.

"_We're under attack, Your Majesty,"_ GegenHuber, informing him of the Cimaronian troops invading a village in Voltaire.

"_Belar has reinstated his World Unification Movement."_ Gunter. _"He's sending his men into battle against Small Cimaron. At this rate, Caloria will be caught in the middle of a disastrous war."_

"_Baldric and Anselm have signed treaties with Big Cimaron."_ Murata, cold and serious, far more distant from his king and friend than usual. _"Belar already has many more allies. His armies are growing larger by the day."_

"_Small Cimaron has fallen to it's enemies. Lady Flynn had been captured and is being transported to the capital of Big Cimaron."_ Yozak, having just come in with reports from his reconnaissance missions.

"_Our village of Latimer has received heavy damages. Lord von Karbelnikoff requests aid." _Gwendal, unable to conceal the fury blazing in his eyes. _"Furthermore, Belar is sending his men into Francia. It'll only be a matter of time before they take over."_

"_We think it's time to discuss your marriage to Lord von Bielefeld."_ His lavender haired adviser again, unsmiling and stern.

"_Francia has fallen, Your Majesty."_ Conrad, without the friendly smile that worked so well in putting Yuuri's mind at ease.

"_I love you, Yuuri!" _Wolfram, upset and on the verge of breaking down, spitting those words at him like they were weapons used to tear at his heart, tears gathering in green eyes.

"_As the king, you should be making the decisions, not allowing them to do that for you." _Shori, still distrusting and suspicious of his younger brother's Mazoku friends, wise eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"_Seal your promises to each other with a kiss."_ The priest from today's ceremony, aged face set in a pleasant smile.

"_Fane? That's only an hour's ride from here!"_ Mikhail, clearly distressed by the current state of their kingdom.

"_That's the whole problem, isn't it? I'd be lying if I said that was enough."_ Wolfram again, with that same hurt look from before, the one that made Yuuri feel like the lowest form of scum on the face of the earth.

And all the while those same voices repeated over and over again, _"Your fault! Your fault! Your fault!"_

"No," he denied again, bringing his hands up to cradle his head as he shook it quickly, trying to force them away. He didn't want to hear anymore of this.

But the more he fought against them, the louder they became.

"_You're a failure as a king." _

"_Failure."_

"_You let your people down. You don't really care about them, not as long as you get what you want. You're the same as everyone of those kings fighting against you."_

"That isn't true!" Yuuri said, squeezing his eyes shut against the enraged chanting. "That isn't true at all! Everything I've done over the last four years has been for the people!"

"_You're weak."_

"_Weak."_

"_You're going to lead the demon tribe to their deaths! The war will kill us all!"_

"There isn't going to be any war! I won't let that happen!"

"_You'll suffer."_

"_Suffer."_

"_You'll abandon them all. It'll be all your fault!"_

"No!!"

"_Yuuri…"_

"_Yuuri…"_

…

"_Murderer…"_

Yuuri's eyes snapped open, tears building within them again as that one word reverberated within the blackness, mocking him. "No…"

"_Murderer!!"_ the voices chorused as one, laughing uncontrollably.

"No!!" the king shouted. "Shut up!! I didn't do anything!! I haven't killed anybody!! Leave me alone!!"

"_Murderer!"_

"Get out of my head!!"

Quickly the young black haired man sat up in bed, his body covered in a cold sweat, blue pajamas and raven hair dampened by perspiration. His breaths came out in heavy pants, the world around him spinning as he tried to focus. He could feel his hands shaking uncontrollably, and the tears that had built in his eyes during the entirety of his ordeal still blurred his vision. The nightmare had left him shaken, frightened at the thought of falling asleep again.

'_What the hell was that?'_ he wondered, unable to convince himself that it had been nothing more than one of his ordinary dreams.

"Yuuri?" someone called out to him, and when the king was able to turn towards his left, he saw Wolfram sitting up in bed.

The blond looked almost completely awake, as if he'd been up for some time now, an uncommon occurrence for this time of night. His golden hair was mussed from sleep, and his large green eyes shone with worry, watching him carefully as he tried to gain control of himself. One of the sleeves of his nightgown was out of place, sliding down his arm to reveal more pale skin that what was typically exposed, but Yuuri didn't allow himself to stare for long, turning away again mere seconds after glancing in his direction. He didn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment, least of all Wolfram, who's dream scream stilled plagued him.

'_That wasn't really him,'_ he mentally reminded himself, forcing such thoughts from his mind. _'It wasn't. It was just your imagination. You must have had too much to drink tonight.'_

Somehow he didn't think that was the case, but it was better to think that than something else.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram tried again, but the king refused to look at him. "You were shouting in your sleep and twitching all over. I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't…" he trialed off, emerald orbs still trained on the darker man. "Are you okay?" he asked, obviously concerned.

Yuuri supposed he had every right to be. It was rare that his dreams would wake up the boy beside him, after all. More often than not it was the other way around, with Wolfram accidentally kicking or punching him in his sleep, occasionally knocking him completely off of the bed, tormented by his own set of nightmares. Yuuri had gotten used to it, resigned himself to the fact that he'd always have to deal with Wolf's less that peaceful sleeping habits, not even realizing that he could be doing similar things while in a state of slumber.

His nightmares had come more regularly over the last few years, making Yuuri wonder if his friend had witnessed something like this from him before, or if this was the first time he'd unintentionally awakened him - a task that was near impossible. If that was the case, he hoped Wolfram hadn't been able to make anything out of his unconscious ramblings, as he'd rather not explain the words he'd spoken or the scenes that had prompted him to say them. It was still too fresh in his mind, the accusing voices having faded, but still there under the surface, waiting for the opportunity to pull him in again.

The scent of blood, also, still lingered, and when the nineteen year old glanced down at the silk sheets that his left hand was clutching for dear life, the image of the bedroom scene swam before him, and for just a second he thought he saw red staining the smooth white fabric.

Almost instantly he felt sick, lifting his hand from the sheet to cover his mouth as bile began to rise. He threw the covers off of him as he near jumped out of bed, dashing towards the washroom where he proceeded to retch into the chamber pot, his stomach forcing up all of the food he'd eaten at dinner that evening.

After everything had come up and he was left dry heaving for a few seconds, he stood on shaky legs, moving towards the washbasin and standing there just long enough to splash some of the lukewarm water onto his face and wash the sour taste from his mouth, feeling better now that he'd gotten that out of his system, though only slightly. He continued to breath heavier than normal, and he could still see all of the death in the back of his mind, but it seemed less real somehow now that he'd reacted to it.

"Yuuri?" he heard his name being called again, and he turned a little to his right to see Wolfram standing in the doorway, a candle at hand, dimply lighting the room.

"I'm fine," the black haired man told him, though he remained leaning over the washbasin, the palms of his hands pressed against the cool marble counter top.

He could see Wolfram frowning out of the corner of his eye, clearly disbelieving his claims. "Only a wimp would get this sick over a stupid dream," he said, trying to hide how much the situation and Yuuri's subsequent reaction had rattled him. "Honestly, if I weren't here to protect you, you'd probably be screaming at the sight of your own shadow."

"You don't know anything," the king replied, somewhat harshly.

That had the blond pausing in his harmless insults, looking in on him inquisitively. He took one step foreword, cautious, like he didn't want to startle the older looking male, reaching out with his free hand to place it against his back in a comforting gesture. "Do you want to talk about it?" Wolfram asked quietly, taking another small step closer as he did so.

Yuuri shook his head. "No," he replied, trying his best to keep the disturbing mental images from returning.

"It might help you to-"

"I said 'no!'" he repeated, much harsher this time, dark eyes narrowed as he straightened up, feeling as the hand against his back slipped away.

"You don't have to yell at me!" Wolfram snapped back, his voice rising as anger and slight annoyance replaced the concern from only moments ago. "Excuse me for being worried about you! If you want me to leave you alone, then just come out and say so!"

There was that guilt again, not as strong as it had been earlier in the evening, but still there. Yuuri hadn't meant to be so cruel to him; he'd lashed out before he'd even realized it. He was just so tired and upset. He felt lost, like he was spinning out of control, and he didn't know what to do to correct the imbalance. Of course that was no excuse to treat his friend badly when he'd done nothing but show concern, but it had been almost instinctive to push the other young man away. He didn't want to trouble him or anyone else with his problems. He'd rather deal with them himself. Telling Wolfram what he'd dreamed would only fuel his sense of worry.

"I'm sorry I bothered you," the demon prince said, sounding slightly hurt as he moved to turn away.

"Wolfram," Yuuri immediately tried to apologize, watching his friend march back across the room, heading towards their large bed. The double black followed him, ignoring the short bout of dizziness brought on by his sudden movements, reaching out a hand to grab onto one of his upper arms, pulling the blond back around to face him. "Wolfram, wait," he pleaded, keeping his voice low and unthreatening.

"What?" the prince asked in return, forcing himself to sound more impatient than hurt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you."

"Don't be. It's obvious you'd rather not be bothered by me. I'm sorry for disturbing you," he tried to pull himself away from Yuuri familiar grip, but the king would not allow him to do so.

"That isn't it," the taller man said, refusing to let go. "It's not that I don't appreciate your concern or anything, it's just that…" he paused for a long moment, averting his black eyes so that he was staring down at the floor. "I… I'd rather not talk about it."

"Why not?" Wolfram asked, setting the lit candle down onto the surface of the bedside table. "Do you think I wouldn't understand? I have bad dreams, too, Yuuri. I know how… how frightening they can be."

"It's not that, either," he shook his head again, his eyes stinging as the tears returned, and he had to squeeze them shut to keep the drops from falling. "I just… I can't explain it. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never… never had a dream like that before. There was fire everywhere, and the blood… and then I kept hearing all those voices, telling me… telling me that it was all my fault."

"What was your fault?"

"Everything," Yuuri whispered the word, the same one that had been hissed at him.

Wolfram frowned as he stared up at him. "You haven't done anything wrong," he told the king, lifting a hand to place it against his cheek, turning his face so that he could look him in the eye. "None of that was real, Yuuri."

"I know. But that didn't stop it from seeming real."

"You're just tired," the blond reasoned, using his thumb to remove a single tear from the corner of one of Yuuri's black eyes. "You've been under too much stress lately. You'll be fine once you get some rest, and then the dreams should go away. Stop worrying about everything and just focus on yourself for a while. You're no good to anyone if you're this stressed out."

"I… I can't go back to sleep. There's not way that I could… not after…"

His fair haired friend sighed lightly, a small, comforting smile stretching across his pretty face, the candlelight dancing within his green eyes. "Don't be such a wimp," he said playfully, his voice light and affectionate. "That's why I'm here, isn't it? So you don't get scared."

"Or so you say," Yuuri replied with a shaky smile.

"Someone's got to watch out for you at night. There's no telling what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into if it wasn't for me."

"You just wanted an excuse to sleep in my bed," the Demon King pointed out, the tension slowly easing out of him, though it did not vanish completely. He didn't think he'd be able to get over this any time soon, not so easily, not after it had been so realistic and graphic, but it helped to know that someone was there for him, even if he didn't feel like saying anymore on the matter than he already had.

Wolfram's smile widened slightly at his statement, eyes twinkling as he lowered the hand that had been on Yuuri's face, dropping it so that he could slide it into one of the king's own, giving it a light tug. "Come back to bed," he said, leading him onto the wide mattress.

Yuuri followed him, feeling anxious as he slid back underneath the silken sheets, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep not matter how much the other boy reassured him. Laying down, he couldn't help but shiver, wanting to forget all that he'd seen but lacking the ability to do so. He couldn't just push it out of his mind and pretend as if it had never happened, nor could he easily ignore the terror that had welled up within him. It had all seemed so real, was the thought that continuously ran through his mind. How could he possibly forget about it?

He knew Wolfram was right in saying that he was probably too stressed presently, that he'd be fine once he was able to get some rest and things around the palace returned to normal, but that knowledge did nothing to stop him from wondering if all that he'd seen while sleeping could one day come to pass. He didn't normally have visions, but that didn't mean it was completely impossible, right? He'd seen Lady Julia quite a few times while unconscious, had talked to her just as he would to someone while he were awake. Although he supposed it would be a bit hard to believe that he was suddenly able to glimpse the future. Talking to a woman who's soul now belonged to him did not make him prone to premonitions.

So that's all it was, then; a dream - or a nightmare, rather - nothing more. The village fire had been conjured up from his knowledge of Cimaron's plans to attack, the bodies and accusing voices were a byproduct of his guilt, and the scene with Wolfram and Greta in the bedroom… that, he supposed, came from the conflict within himself, the confusing emotions that were connected to the other boy. Greta having also been involved in whatever had been happening during that part of the dream was simply because she was their daughter and had an impact on their everyday lives.

It sounded so simple and unthreatening to think about it like that. Still, no matter what he told himself or what kind of explanations he came up with, in the end he was as scared, confused, and worried as he'd been all along.

'_What's wrong with me?'_

"Yuuri," Wolfram was calling his name again, laying beside him once more, the light of the candle having been extinguished as they'd climbed back in.

"Mmm," the black haired man made a noise to let him know that he'd heard him, but didn't say anything more than that.

"Don't worry about it so much. The more you think about it, the more it's going to bother you."

The Demon King said nothing in return, just stared up at the top of the canopy, an activity he'd grown used to doing when sleep was hard to find.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram wondered, and the taller boy could feel the bed shifting as his friend moved closer.

"What is it?" he asked when the blond did not continue, most likely waiting for some sort of a response before finishing whatever question he was about to pose.

"Can I… I mean…I…" the demon prince tried, only to discover that words were suddenly hard to come by at the moment, and he ended up working himself into a fluster. When speech failed him, Wolfram settled on taking action instead, scooting across the bed so that he and Yuuri were sharing one side, sliding one arm across the other boy's chest in a parody of a hug. When the black eyed man didn't move to pull away or have any other adverse reaction, Wolfram lowered his head until it was resting against a strong shoulder, pressing up against Yuuri's left side.

"Is this okay?" he was finally able to ask, voice soft and unusually timid, afraid that the other boy would only shove him away again.

Yuuri took a moment to contemplate this new position before giving an answer, absorbing the feel and careful analyzing his emotions to decided if he liked this or not, or if the other boy was suddenly too close for comfort. It didn't feel much different from the hug they'd shared a few weeks back; Wolfram was warm, and the weight against him was oddly comforting. There was something about being pressed so close to another living being that made him feel… alive. The fact that Wolfram was a boy and therefore he didn't necessarily consider this 'right' didn't even cross his mind.

What was so wrong with it when it felt so comfortable?

"This is fine," he eventually replied, feeling as even more of his previous tension slowly eased out of him.

Wolfram let out a breath he probably hadn't even realized he'd been holding, and though Yuuri couldn't see too well in the darkness, he imagined the blond was sporting one of his rare content smiles. "You know, a long time ago when I was a little boy," the fairer boy began in a quiet whisper, "and I woke up at night from a storm or a bad dream, I used to sneak down the hall and climb into bed with Mother or Conrart, and they'd sing to me until I fell back to sleep."

"My mom used to sing to me, too," Yuuri said, smiling lightly at his memories of early childhood. "And I'd go into Shori's room and fall asleep next to him whenever I was afraid of thunderstorms. He used to tease me about it when we woke up the next morning, but one time when I stayed in my own bed, he came into my room and climbed in with me."

A light laugh escaped the blond then - although Yuuri told himself it sounded more like a soft giggle than a real laugh - before the two of them fell silent once again, lost in their own thoughts and memories. It didn't last long - not that Yuuri was complaining at all; he'd do anything to keep his mind off of his nightmare - and after a moment Wolfram took a breath as if he were about to start speaking again, perhaps to recount another short tale of many years ago. Yuuri was a bit surprised then when no words at all were spoken. Instead, the sound of Wolfram humming met his ears.

At first, he didn't know what to make of it. Most people in this world had some sort of an appreciation for the arts, whether it was painting or sculpting, writing, singing, knitting, embroidering or, in Lady Anissina's case, inventing, and although Wolfram was no exception, Yuuri had often found himself questioning the other boy's abilities. His paintings were… unique, to say the very least, and though the king had never heard his friend's attempts at singing, he had to admit that he hadn't thought it would be any better.

Therefore, he was surprised by how good it actually sounded more so that the fact that Wolfram was doing such a thing. Granted, he was only humming, but Yuuri figured that if he sounded this good simply making noises, he'd sound ten time better putting words to the melody. He voice was soft, smooth, and soothing, helping to relax him almost as much as the body heat radiating from his slender frame. The combination of tranquil sounds and the warmth of touch soothed the king's weary soul, and successfully managed to lift his spirits at least a little bit, which he figured was a great accomplishment at this point.

Yuuri remained silent and listened, and although he still did not think he'd be able to get some sleep any time soon, he was far less tense now that he had been only moments ago. He put all of his focus and attention into the sounds emanating from his green eyed counterpart, listening intently as the song continued over a period of a few minutes, and when it ended he was happy to hear the other boy start back at the beginning. He didn't say anything, fearful that Wolfram would become self-conscious and stop if he said even a single word, even if it was in praise.

After a while the humming began to die down, Wolfram's breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep. Yuuri could feel it as his body relaxed and went completely limp, resting against him and using his shoulder as a pillow. He smiled then, and released a small sigh, realizing for the first time since Wolfram had moved to this side of the bed that not only was he okay with their sudden close proximity, a part of him even liked it. It made him feel safe, secure, like nothing in the world could harm either of them. It was a good feeling, one he wouldn't mind experiencing a bit more often.

Maybe being together like this wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe there was something more to it, something worth all the trouble he was having with sorting out his emotions. If just laying together like this felt so nice, what would it feel like to be even closer?

It wasn't until Yuuri himself began to drift off on the first waves of sleep that he realized where he'd heard that melody before, and he honestly couldn't believe he hadn't remembered sooner. It was the song they'd danced to earlier that night, their first dance as a married couple.

* * *

Yuuri's period of sleep only lasted a couple of hours before he was again forced into wakefulness, though thankfully not because of any more sickening dreams. His eyes slid open as a loud clap of thunder resounded above, the wind blowing harshly outside and rain pounding down upon the castle. Lightning flashed, bright and jagged in the sky, illuminating the room for a few brief moments before it quickly faded, another burst of thunder following only seconds after. The storm that had been brewing in the distance all evening was now directly over them, drowning out almost every other sound.

The Demon King remained where he was, in no way frightened by the severe weather, not like he had been as a young child, and turned his head to the side slightly in order to catch a glimpse of Wolfram when another bolt of lightning struck. The blond was still in the same position he'd been in when he'd fallen asleep, arm thrown across Yuuri's chest, head resting against his shoulder, a few strands of golden hair tickling the skin of Yuuri's neck. Miraculously Wolfram had refrained from lashing out in his sleep and had lane completely still instead, which came as a slight surprise to the darker man.

Had his friend actually managed to sleep the last few hours without tossing and turning?

The black haired king released a light sigh, the soft gust of air rustling a few strands of his friend's golden hair, a tiny smile working it's way onto his face as the thin body next to him unconsciously moved closer. It felt strange to be pressed this close together, in an embrace slightly more intimate than a simple hug - one of Wolfram's legs tangled with his own, his slender frame locked securely against his left side - but it was not at all threatening. In fact, Yuuri found their sudden closeness strangely comforting. He rather liked the light weight against him, and the feel of Wolf's warm breath through the cotton material of his pajama shirt.

Had he been in this very position a year ago, even as little as a few weeks - or days - ago, he would have inquired about his own sanity. Wolfram was a boy after all, and as far as the nineteen year old was concerned, boys weren't supposed to cuddle. Boys weren't supposed to sleep in the same room - unless they were siblings or dorm mates. There was a certain distance that must be kept between them - one he'd forced between himself and Wolfram for the past four years - a line that must never be crossed, or even straddled. It was a line he suddenly found himself dangerously close to, teetering on the edge, near enough to cross over with one quick shove.

But he failed to question himself now, nor did he pull back. The comfort he'd found was too soothing for him to pay attention to the voice in his head that was telling him to get away, warning him that he was allowing himself to become too attached to something that he didn't necessarily want. The friendship he had with Wolfram was more than enough for him, and even that brought it's own set of problems, more issues than he felt like sorting through, questions about himself that he was too afraid to answer. He feared what those answers would mean, and what sort of dangers they would bring about should he accept them.

Out of all the things that had happened to him since his fifteenth year - being repeatedly attacked by Adalbert, abducted by kidnappers, searching for and opening the forbidden boxes, purposely placing himself into situations that could have been fatal simply to save one innocent life - his friendship… no, his _relationship_ with Wolfram (as confusing as it was) was the most dangerous thing he'd ever had to face. He had very little knowledge on the topic of love, and what he did know was enough to keep him from willingly stepping over that imaginary line. He knew what love could make people do, what kind of emotions it could invoke.

He already lacked control over the severest of his emotions; transforming into an alternate personality - one that had no qualms about using violence in his endeavors to seek justice - was enough proof of that. It hadn't been until he'd come to this world that his alter-ego had been discovered, but even before that fateful afternoon there had been instances when the anger he fought so hard to purge from within himself had gotten the better of him, such as the time he'd punched his baseball coach in junior high school, or when he'd slapped Wolfram the day they'd first met. They were minor instances, all of them, but with the "birth" of his split personality it had steadily grown worse.

He'd always striven to be a peaceful individual, free of conflict, optimistic and carefree, and so he'd hidden his negative emotions away, locking them somewhere deep inside of himself, practically ignored. The Great Demon King was then a reflection of that, his anger and hatred at every injustice in physical form, an entity he'd unconsciously created to keep his conscious self free of those darker emotions. That persona never hesitated in a fight, was confident in his abilities to defend and attack, and could use the magical powers Yuuri had never even realized he possessed. In situations where Yuuri was afraid or confused, the being inside was authoritative, cunning, and shrewd.

Over the years, he'd come to rely on that part of himself less and less, to the point where a transformation had not occurred at all within the last ten to eleven months. With his history lessons pretty much completed, his swordsmanship greatly improved, and his horseback riding now close to perfect, Gunter had spent the last year and a half instructing him in magic technique. He'd worked on controlling his magic, so that there were no more dramatic, near fatal bursts of uncontrolled power. Being more disciplined in the art made his need for the his other half decrease substantially; however, without that release came a buildup of the emotions he'd always hidden from, and he now had no choice but to face his anger head-on.

It was frightening to know that he could feel such things when he'd spent so much of his life free of man's darker feelings. He wasn't used to it and - now that he was putting some serious thought into it - his sudden moodiness could very well be caused by his unfamiliarity with it. The stress he'd been under recently was also another important factor, leading him to a much deeper fear. In order to gain control over the powers he possessed as the Demon King, it seemed to him now as if he'd given up the control he'd previously had over his emotions.

Love, then - true, deep, all-consuming love - could potentially lead to some serious problems. He knew it was very Gwendal-like to say that becoming too attached to someone was a danger, but in his case, with everything that was going on in the country and with the inner battle inside of himself, such statements could possibly be proven true. If he allowed himself to become close to Wolfram, more emotionally close to him than he already was, what would he do if something happened to the other boy? He knew that they couldn't protect one another from everything, but the thought of someone using the blond as a way to get to him made his blood simmer.

It had happened once before, albeit unintentionally. Cimaron hadn't meant to harm him when they'd attacked and taken Conrad, but the event had certainly put him on a roller coaster ride of emotions. He'd depended on Conrad for almost everything since his very first day in the Great Demon Kingdom, so being without his comfort and guidance had been practically unbearable. Of course he could have found such things in others as well - in Murata or Wolfram, for instance - and he had to a certain extent, but Conrad's disappearance and following betrayal had forced the king to become much more self-reliant, and though he'd still depended on the others, he'd created a safe distance between them and himself, so that he would not be so hurt should something like that ever happen again.

It wasn't a perfect defense, he knew, as he was bound to feel some level of pain no matter how much space he put between himself and the others, but it was the only sort of protection the knew how to employ. Even the friendship he shared with Wolfram was becoming dangerous, especially now that he was allowing these somewhat intimate moments between them. He could hardly protect the blond from himself and the emotional turmoil he faced with Yuuri's reluctance to return his affections; it would no doubt be even more difficult to protect him from a more tangible threat. Wolfram would place himself between the king and physical harm no matter what the consequences, so Cimaron attacking further threatened not only Yuuri's safety, but his friend's as well.

'_So being close like this only makes it worse, doesn't it?'_ he silently wondered, turning again to stare at his sleeping bed-mate. _'If something happened to either one of us, we'd both feel the effects.'_

As if it had a mind of it's own, Yuuri's free right hand slowly moved across the thick winter comforter the maids had recently replaced the thinner, warmer weather blankets with, trailing up the slender arm that had earlier been thrown across his chest until it came to stop on Wolfram's shoulder, exposed by his nightgown, which had shifted out of place over night. The skin he met there was soft to the touch, though slightly chilled by the cool air that encompassed the room. Absentmindedly, he moved his hand over it in an awkward caress, moving his palm up the pale column of his neck, over his jaw line and a smooth cheek, until it tangled itself within a mass of golden curls.

'_I shouldn't be doing this,'_ he told himself, releasing yet another sigh at the realization. _'By letting Wolfram get close like this now, I'll only hurt hum more in the end. He's right; I get close, and then I pull away from him, and he ends up being disappointed every time.'_

The king's internal dialogue was interrupted by a banging on the bedroom door, louder than it would have been had the person on the other side not had to compete with the roaring thunder and the deluge of rain. Yuuri jumped at the sound, not expecting it so early in the morning, and winced when the sudden movement caused the male beside him to begin to stir.

"Sorry," he muttered, slowly disentangling himself from the waking blond, sitting up in the wide bed as the pounding continued. "Come in," he called, using a bit of his newly learned magic to make a few of the chamber's candles flicker to life.

The knocking stopped as soon as he'd granted access to whoever else was up at the current hour, the doorknob twisting seconds later, permitting the visitor to enter the room. For a moment, the Japanese man thought perhaps Gwendal and the others had returned and were coming to give their report as he'd told them to upon their departure. He knew, however, that despite his orders, his advisers were more likely to allow him to sleep through the night rather than coming to him right away. Unless it was something that absolutely could not wait to be discussed, they would have waited until they were sure he'd awakened.

Instead, it was his earth friend who crossed over the threshold, dressed and ready to greet the day as if he awoke before the sun every morning.

"Murata?" Yuuri wondered, lifting a hand to rub the remainder of sleep from his eyes, watching as the other double black stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

"What does the Sage want?" Wolfram mumbled somewhat angrily, annoyed at the unexpected intrusion, though he still appeared more asleep than awake, remaining close by the king's side.

Yuuri had no answer for him, and could only continue to ask questions of his own, staring at the bespectacled man in confusion. "What are you doing up? The sun hasn't even risen yet."

"It will," Ken replied, walking across the room to stand by one of the high windows, pushing a curtain aside in order to look out at the violent weather that was assaulting the capitol. The serious look that adorned his face and the harsh set of his jaw was enough to have Yuuri sitting up a bit straighter, pushing the sheets and blankets away as his legs dangled over the side of the mattress.

"We're trying to sleep," Wolfram spoke again, refusing to grant the Sage any more of his attention. "Go away."

"Wolf," Yuuri said his name almost in warning, before he was turning back to the youngest - though arguably the most knowledgeable - of his advisers. "What's wrong?" he asked, ignoring the groan that escaped the blond prince. "Has something happened that I should be made aware of? Have Conrad and Gwendal returned yet?"

"If they have, I haven't been informed. Most of the castle is still asleep."

"That's because most of the castle comprises of normal living beings that require more than three hours of rest in order to function," Wolfram said testily, frowning deeply as he finally sat up in bed, resigning himself to the fact that his period of sleep was going to be disturbed until the Great Sage felt like making his exit. "What are you doing in here?"

"There's something important that I must discuss with the both of you," Murata said in return, not phased by the Prince's attitude. "It concerns this evenings happenings in Fane."

"Do you know something about it?" Yuuri wondered, eager to find out the current state of their northern town. "Has someone told you something? Was a message sent from Yozak and the recovery party?"

"No," the other young man answered with a slow shake of his head. "There's been no message. I know nothing more than you do about the situation."

"Then what do we need to discuss?"

The look on Murata's face darkened considerably as he turned around to face the seemingly less concerned king. "I think it's obvious by now that Belar isn't going to give up, and that we need to do more in seeing that Cimaron does not succeed in their planned invasion."

"What planned invasion?" Yuuri asked, narrowing his dark eyes at the young human man. "They've conducted minor attacks on three of our villages. How does that qualify as an invasion? If anything his tactics have been petty and ineffective."

"Petty?" Ken raised a dark eyebrow. "Attacking innocent villagers is petty?"

"That's not what I meant!" Yuuri told him, frowning at his tone of voice. "What I meant is, Cimaron has yet to use the full potential of their forces in attacking us."

"So we're supposed to sit around doing nothing until they feel like sending a whole battalion in, is that it?"

"I don't understand what you're getting at," the Demon King said, wondering what could have the other Earthen man speaking as he was. Why did it suddenly seem as if Murata didn't agree with his ideals of peace anymore? "And you shouldn't be jumping to conclusions before we know all the facts. For all we've been told, what happened in Fane could have been a false alarm."

"And I suppose you think Belar is only playing a game with us, and he'll give up once he grows bored." The look on Ken's face was steadily growing darker, confusing the other double black. He'd never seen his friend quite this serious before. "There's going to be a war whether you want one or not."

"There's _not_ going to be a war."

"Then what would you have us do?"

Yuuri's frown deepened, and he glared at his friend for possibly the first time in all the years that they'd known one another. "Don't you trust me to make the right decisions?'

"I trust that your thoughts are with the people," the Sage answered him. "I trust that you care about their lives and safety, but who's to say what the right decision is? What if you're making the wrong decision?"

"How can you say that?!" Yuuri asked in disbelief. How could anyone, least of all one of his closest friends, think that war was a better option than diplomacy? What in the world had changed Murata's mind? "I don't want a war, Murata, and I'm not going to sign the papers allowing one!"

"It doesn't matter what you do or don't want! Your decisions should be made according to what's best for the people you serve! It's _their_ lives at stake now!"

"You want me to send them off to die?! How could you possibly think that that's what's best for them?!"

"It's better to die fighting that to sit idle and do nothing!"

"Listen to you!" Yuuri couldn't believe what he was hearing, what Ken was trying to convince him of. "Can you even hear yourself?! You're starting to sound like Gwendal!"

"I only speak the truth," Murata said gravely, remaining at his place by the window, a flash of lightning glinting off of his glasses. "Wouldn't you rather fight for your life than give up without even trying?"

"I'd rather talk things out and find a peaceful solution!"

"Sometimes you can't find a peaceful solution, no matter how hard you look! There are some in this world who just won't listen; it doesn't matter how many times you shout for peace. Belal is _not_ going to sit down over afternoon tea and discuss a treaty with us! He's going to keep pushing until his army invades! What are you going to do then?" he paused for a moment, waiting for some sort of a response. "You can't sit back and allow that to happen, Shibuya!"

The whole time this conversation was going on, Wolfram sat up in the middle of the bed, his disappointment and slight annoyance at having been awakened long before what he considered a decent hour dissipating as he glanced back and forth between the two angry double blacks. Ever since the Sage had appeared in this world again in the form of Yuuri's schoolmate, the blond haired prince had never once seen them argue like this. They'd bickered quite a few times, it was true, but there had rarely been any shouting, only dumb Earth jokes that he could never understand and the occasional bout of teasing.

To see them as they were now, their questions and comments becoming more heated, their dark, dark eyes narrowed dangerously, it was a strangely frightening sight. Yuuri had always been very passionate when it came to his desire for world peace. It was almost on obsession of his, something he'd worked towards since the beginning of his reign. But to see him like this, almost… enraged… by what his friend was suggesting, made Wolfram's heart beat just a little bit faster. If he concentrated hard enough, ignoring everything else around him, he could have sworn he felt the bubbling of power, slowly making it's way to the surface.

It was almost enough to keep him silent, and prevent him from saying all that was on his mind at the moment.

"Maybe the Sage is right," he spoke in a near whisper, part of him even hoping that the king hadn't heard him, flinching unintentionally when the man he loved turned those narrowed eyes upon him.

"What did you say?" Yuuri asked, and again it sounded more like a warning that a casual statement or question.

"I said, maybe he's right," Wolfram repeated, not as quietly this time but still soft enough to be barely more than a whisper.

He hated to disappoint Yuuri, he really did. If he had it his way, he'd make the world into the kind of place Yuuri truly wanted, a world free of hatred, free of fear, a place where everyone could live together without any prejudices or misunderstandings. The fact remained, however, that there were people in this world like Belar - and like plenty of other kings who still distrusted those who shared the planet with them - who hungered for power, who desired control, and who cared naught for the innocents who ended up fighting for their perversions.

Wolfram would rather the world not be so unfair; he'd already seen so much in his near eighty-six years alive, more than Yuuri would probably ever see in his own life. As much as he wished for the king's kind words to work on everyone, he knew that they could not rely on hopes and smiles to see them through every hardship. He'd learned in his years as a soldier that words could fail, and that in such instances the only important thing was protecting the people, regardless of how they had to go about doing it. He didn't want another war either, but right now all their other options were beginning to look hopeless.

"How can he be right?!" Yuuri questioned him, the look in his eyes darkening with every second that passed, and Wolfram could only wonder what was going on inside of him at that moment, what kind of inner battle he was going through as his two closest friends seemed to turn on him.

Wolfram didn't answer. He couldn't think of a way to explain himself that would calm their dark haired sovereign. Yuuri had spent too much of his life on a relatively peaceful world; the blond doubted he would ever fully understand the concept of war.

When the prince remained silent, Yuuri pushed himself back onto the mattress, the storm outside growing worse as the storm within himself continued to strengthen. Wolfram hardly had the time to utter a single word, much less move away from the other young man, before a pair of hands came up to grab onto his shoulders. A shiver trailed down his spine at the almost dangerous glint that had entered into those dark eyes, but he didn't try to pull away, not even when Yuuri's grip tightened, fingers pressing into his skin nearly hard enough to bruise.

"Tell me!!" the king demanded, giving him a rough shake, before his voice lowered into a tone that was far too familiar not to be the least bit frightening. "Do you want to send our soldiers off to die?" he asked, so close Wolfram could feel the warmth of his breath brushing against his face.

"Of course not," he replied with a short shake of his head, trying his hardest to control his facial expressions, not wanting to reveal how unsettled he was. "But they have a duty to the country and they'll do whatever they have to in order to protect it. A soldier is always prepared for war, Yuuri. They know it's always a possibility."

"So, what? Now you want a war, too?!"

"That's not what I said!" the blond was quick to deny, unable to hide the slight wince as the king's grip tightened even more.

"You made a promise to me, Wolfram!" Yuuri shouted, giving him another harsh shake. "If you sign a Declaration, I swear to God, I'll…"

Just as quickly as the anger had swept through him, it left just as suddenly, the look of animosity vanishing in an instant, leaving him wide-eyed and confused. His mouth fell open in surprise as he came to realize what he'd been doing, what he'd been saying, his hands loosening on Wolfram's shoulders, lifting off of him and trembling slightly, disbelief clouding his dark orbs. His voice, when he spoke, had returned to normal, deeper now than it had been four years ago, but no where near as dark and feral as that of the Great Demon King's.

"I… I'm sorry," he apologized, lifting a hand to his head as if it pained him. "I didn't mean… I…"

"Yuuri…" the blond called to him, confused by all that had just happened. Quickly he turned to look in the Sage's direction, noting how the other dark haired male had raised an eyebrow, curious over Yuuri's little show. Wolfram would have asked him what he made of the sudden event had he not been so concerned for his king, and turned back to the half human in order to make sure he was truly alright.

"I won't," he reassured him, keeping his voice soft and soothing. "I won't sign one, I swear. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't."

If Yuuri acknowledged what he'd just said, the prince didn't know. At the moment, the older looking young man seemed too consumed by guilt to pay attention to anything else. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" he kept mumbling over and over again.

"Yuuri," he said his name once more, reaching out to place his palms on either side of his face, forcing the other man to look him in the eye. "It's okay."

"I didn't meant that. I don't know why I…"

"It's okay," Wolfram repeated. "I know. Don't worry about it, you wimp. I'm fine."

"But… I…"

"I said, I'm fine," the blond said forcefully, pulling Yuuri closer so that he could press their foreheads together. "Just calm down."

His reassurances seemed to work, Yuuri falling silent as he attempted to regulate his breathing, which had become a bit labored after his sudden shift in personality. Black eyes slid shut, the warmth of his breath still fanning across the prince's face, disrupting a thin blond curl from where it rested against his cheek. One of his hands slid into Yuuri's hair, stroking a few raven locks and repositioning them behind his ear, sinking his fingers into the dark mass as his own eyes slowly shut, long lashes fluttering against pale skin.

He was more than glad when Yuuri began to calm down on his own, his breaths slowing and his shaking subsiding. He'd be lying if he said that what had just happened hadn't scared him at least a little. He'd seen Yuuri's other side plenty of times before, and each transformation had left him secretly awe-struck, the king's magical creations often terrifying in their own right. This time, though, there had been no burst of power, no glowing blue light to signify the Great Demon King's presence. No great change had taken place to point towards a transformation. If he hadn't know about Yuuri's other personality, he probably wouldn't have even realized the difference.

He didn't know how to explain it. He couldn't remember a time in which the king had had such weak control over his anger. Never before had there been a transformation in the midst of a conversation. It had only ever been if someone needed to be protected, when Yuuri used his powers to save others. He never gave empty threats, and certainly not to those who weren't deserving of them, but it was always in someone else's defense. Never for himself.

"It's obvious that you've been thinking about the situation we're in quite a bit if you'd react like that," Murata's voice cut through the silence of the bedchamber, staring at the royal couple curiously, intrigued. "So why, then, haven't you done anything to stop this before it grows worse?"

"I can't…" Yuuri answered him quietly, pulling away from his blond friend to look back in Ken's direction, allowing his eyes to reopen and meet the Sage's gaze.

"Why not?" was the next question.

"Because sending our men off to war would go against everything I've ever believed, everything I've told our people since I became the king!" he cried passionately. "I swore that I'd stop the violence."

"But you haven't stopped it."

"I will."

"How?" Murata wondered, drawing an uncertain pause from the other man. "Albert Einstein once said, 'The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing."

"Someone else once said, 'We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.'" Yuuri countered.

"You would be the fool if you continued to ignore this!"

"I'm not ignoring it!" was the immediate denial. "I'm well aware of what's going on! You and Gwendal have been hounding me about it for months now, like I'm still some oblivious child pretending to be king! I thought I'd proven myself to everyone by now!"

"You have."

"Then why are you doubting me?!"

Murata was quiet for a moment, staring across the room at the other double black, a strike of lightning flashing through the window behind him, thunder clapping loudly and ominously. "What have you done to protect our people from Cimaron's attacks? You care for them and give them the resources they need to rebuild after it's over, but you haven't protected them from the threat. Three villages if half a year - three of our major villages… our people are living in fear, Shibuya. It's true that they were able to forget in the weeks leading up to last night's wedding, but once they discover what's happened in Fane…"

He trailed off and Yuuri refrained from replying. Instead, the king remained sitting upon the large bed, close to the prince, who'd fallen silent and gone back to watching the two earthen men, a little overwhelmed by everything.

"People are _dying_," the Sage continued, trying to get through to the distraught king. "Whatever your decision is, it doesn't change the fact that you already have blood on your hands."

Yuuri shook his head at the statement, a tortured look crossing his features as he was again haunted by his bloody nightmare. "Attacking Cimaron isn't going to solve anything. You can't kill people to prove that violence is wrong. It's hypocritical and immoral."

"But at least we'd be protecting those who live in our country. Their lives would be spared, even if others are not."

"I hope you're not about to spout off that 'we should fight them over there so we don't have to fight them over here' bullshit."

"It isn't bullshit in this case," the Sage said. "Sometimes war is a viable option that he _have_ to take."

"I refuse to believe that!" Yuuri replied vehemently, determination hardening his black eyes. "Whether we fight them here or there, innocent people would die. It's the civilians and soldiers who'd suffer the most. I don't want that," he said softly. "There's another solution. We just have to be patient and find it."

"How long will that take? A year? Two? By then Cimaron will have moved in and taken control over a good portion of our lands."

"Damn it, Murata!" the king snapped again, fisting the bedclothes with his hands as frustration washed through him in harsh waves. "This is _my _country and these are _my_ people! I don't need you and Gwendal telling me what I should do all the time. _I'm_ the king!!"

"Then act like it!!" the Sage snapped right back, an action that was so rare it was practically unheard of. It was almost enough to have Wolfram wishing to make his exit and leave these two powerful halflings to battle it out on their own. There were very few people in either world who could stand up to Yuuri when he unleashed his magic, if any; the blond would rather not test the Sage's abilities as well.

"Stop hiding behind your ideals of peace and _do_ something!" Ken continued to shout, something very few people had heard him do before. "You're one of the greatest kings this country has ever had! Why are you running away when your people need you most?!" he asked. "When the hell did you become so blind?!"

Yuuri looked stricken, incapable of responding to Murata's questions and accusations. His eyes had widened at the level of his friend's voice, and he was obviously surprised to witness the man's outburst. It was certainly unexpected for someone usually so jovial and free spirited to break down and release his anger in such a fashion. Wolfram himself had rarely seen the Sage without at least the beginnings of a smile on his face, and during the times in which he had been serious he'd still seemed much more approachable that Gwendal was on his good days. There had always been a friendliness about the Earthen man, even when circumstances were bleak.

Wolf didn't like the way this conversation was turning. Yuuri was already under enough stress - the troubles of this evening certainly weren't making his mood any better - and to have one of his good friends turning on him at a time like this no doubt came as quite a shock to him. The pale prince himself was still a bit unnerved by the Sage's reaction, though he very much disliked how Yuuri was being treated. Shouting at the king was inappropriate even from nobles of the highest standing. It was true that Wolfram had shouted at him plenty of times in the past, but something about the way the Sage was doing so didn't sit well with him.

"Now I think you've said quite enough," he told the man by the window, narrowing his green eyes slightly in displeasure. "Yuuri's doing what he thinks is best. You can't fault him for that. If we keep talking with Belar, I'm sure he'll eventually come to listen." Even as he said this, he didn't see any truth in his words, though Yuuri shot him a pleased look for his agreement, a thankful smile that made Wolf's heart flutter.

"Do you honestly believe that, von Bielefeld?" Murata turned his questioning to the prince, no longer yelling, but looking no less angry than he had been moments ago. "It's not like you to give up without a fight," he stated when he received no answer.

"I'm not giving up," Wolfram said, though he quickly turned his eyes away, knowing the wise human man could see right through him. What he'd just spoken had been a lie. He _was_ giving up (in a way) and he knew it; he'd been doing a lot of that lately, and internally he hated himself for it. He'd always thought of himself as weak, inferior to the kind of men his older brothers had grown to be. The turmoil he'd been under regarding his feelings for Yuuri made it even worse, to the point where he no longer knew who or what he was anymore.

"Aren't you?" the other male wondered, quirking an eyebrow again. "You never used to be like this."

"Neither did you."

They stared at one another for a long moment, Murata reading what he could from the Prince with those wise eyes of his, and Wolfram trying his hardest not to appear uncomfortable in front of him, though he'd like nothing more than for the Sage to leave. Yuuri looked torn between keeping quiet and saying something to reiterate his point, still sitting beside the blond on their bed, close enough for Wolfram to reach out and touch him if he chose to. In the end the king chose silence, perhaps having run out of things to say.

They were interrupted once again anyway, by a series of knocks on their chamber door, ones not nearly as loud as Murata's pounding had been, though loud enough to be heard over the sounds made by the current weather. Yuuri immediately called for the knocker to enter, and the door slowly creaked open to reveal the previous queen's eldest two sons, both of whom had been drenched by the rain on their journey back to the castle. Their uniforms appeared dry, as they'd probably changed before heading towards the king's room, but their hair was soaked, dripping bangs hanging in their eyes, dark strands clinging to the sides of their faces and necks.

"Conrad, Gwendal," Yuuri said, relieved that they'd returned, happy to be distracted from the sudden tension between he and the other double black.

"Is everything alright?" the half-human soldier inquired, peering around the room in concern, looking towards each of the chamber's previous three occupants. "We didn't expect any of you to be awake so early in the morning."

"There's nothing to worry about," Murata assured them, his anger lessening only slightly. "Shibuya and I were simply discussing our current situation."

"You were harassing him, you mean," Wolfram said, feeling less tense now with his brothers here, knowing they'd be able to keep the two other boys from arguing so heatedly again.

"Wolf…" Yuuri admonished, lifting a hand to grab hold of his upper arm, almost as if to restrain him. "It's okay," he reassured the blond, offering him a small smile, before he was giving his undivided attention to his Chief of State and the man who'd given him his name. "I'm assuming things have been taken care of in Fane," he said, some of his confidence returning now that everything seemed to be fine.

"As well as they can be, yes," Gwendal replied cryptically, sapphire eyes narrowed and glinting in the candlelight.

"What do you mean?" Yuuri wondered, confused by his words.

Wolfram immediately got a bad feeling when both Gwendal and Conrart frowned deeply, their expressions a mix of carefully restrained anger and sadness. "What's going on?" the prince asked, hardly noticing when Yuuri slowly let go of his arm, seeming to realize that something was wrong as well.

The brown haired man shook his head. "Perhaps it would be best if we waited to discuss this until-"

"No," their king was quick to cut him off. "I want to hear it now. What happened?"

Conrart sighed, but answered the younger man anyway. "The village was attacked sometime in the early evening. We knew such an event was possible given that the kingdom was otherwise distracted, but we didn't expect the hit to come so close to the capital itself."

"Belar's men?"

"Whoever did it was long gone by the time our party arrived," the middle brother continued. "We can't be sure exactly who it was that launched the attack. None of the culprits were at the scene, nor could we detect any sign of them in the surrounding area. However…" he paused, debating with himself on whether he should go on or not, obviously concerned about what Yuuri's reaction would be.

"However?" the dark haired king prodded, sounding a bit impatient.

Gwendal answered for his half-human brother, irritated, but by what it was hard to tell. "We do not believe the attack was carried out by Cimaron."

Wolfram was baffled, confusion shining in his emerald green eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, and he could see the Sage frowning by his place near the window, though the look on his face did not seem bewildered at all. Instead he looked as if he'd expected to hear something like that, and was disappointed that he'd been right. "Who else would if it be if not Cimaron?"

Conrart shook his head once more. "All we currently know is that the men who attacked were soldiers, but they were not dressed in the uniforms and armor worn by the Cimaronian army."

"How many casualties?"

"Four…" Conrart began, then faltered, his short, unfinished answer causing relief to flood the king's face, until the soldier was able to continue. "Four hundred and sixty eight."

An oppressing silence filled the room, disturbed only by the storm still raging outside. Not a words was spoken by any of the five men as that significant number sunk into the brains of the younger three, filling them with an unfamiliar dread. Wolfram felt as if his heart had fallen down to his feet, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Yuuri felt the exact same way, perhaps even worse. It was hard to fathom so many people being slain, harder still to imagine what they must have gone through that night. The blond could barely even think straight for a moment, too surprised to do much more than sit there.

"What?" Yuuri asked, his voice small and weak.

Wolfram swallowed hard, not wanting to believe a word his second brother had just said. "You can't be serious."

"We're completely serious!" his oldest sibling glared at him darkly, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for the gray-black haired man to keep his anger in check. "The entire village was completely destroyed! Not a single person made it out alive, except a young boy. Gisela doesn't know if he'll make it through the night."

"You mean… everyone…" Yuuri began, but immediately trailed off, unable to speak.

"They're all dead, Your Majesty," Conrad replied with a short nod, his eyes sad, sympathetic towards the king, knowing what he must be going through as he was given such information. "The men, the women… and the children. They spared no one."

Yuuri sucked in a deep breath, raising his hands to cover his face, his shoulders shaking just slightly. Wolfram placed one of his hands against his back in comfort, hating to see him so torn.

"Tell me…" he began again, voice cracking with emotion. "Tell me everything… everything you know about what happened."

Conrart looked concerned. "Your Majesty, you shouldn't-"

The black haired man cut him off. "Tell me! I need to know!"

"Yuuri…" Wolfram tried, but received no response from the older looking male.

Gwendal growled angrily, disapproving of the sympathy that was being shown towards their monarch. "Do not coddle him," he said heavily, speaking to both his brothers.

Conrart didn't have much of a reaction to his words; he simply stood by silently, unwilling to tell His Majesty all that they'd seen that night. Wolfram, however, glowered at the other man, then turned his nose up defiantly. He moved closer to the ailing king, circling his arms around him to hug him from behind, leaning into him to rest his cheek against the back of one of his shoulders, offering as much comfort as he could, ignoring the three pairs of eyes that were watching him as best as he could. If Yuuri appreciated the gesture - or if he disliked it - Wolfram didn't know; the black haired man made no move, nor did he speak any words to acknowledge him.

It was Gwendal who responded to the king's request. "The villagers had no warning," he said, no longer attempting to hide the rage he felt, or hold back his frustrations. "There was no time to prepare a defense, and the town militia was severely overwhelmed. The men were slaughtered; they were hardly given a chance to fight."

"Gwendal…" Conrart attempted to stop him from continuing any further, knowing what kind of an affect this sort of information would have on Yuuri's state mind.

His older brother easily ignored him. "The women were beaten and raped before they were killed. Some appeared to have tortured. From a careful inspection of the state of their bodies, Gisela suspects many of them were kept alive long enough to watch as their husbands and children were killed."

"And what… what happened to the children?"

Here Gwendal's voice lowered, not only in anger, but perhaps a little bit of sadness as well. "The smaller children and the infants were taken to the river, where our enemies tossed them in or held them under until they drowned. The older ones…" he faltered, hands balling into tight fists. "The older children were locked into the school house and burned alive."

Wolfram clenched his eyes shut at the gruesome picture that flashed within his mind, his arms tightening around the taller boy. He could feel Yuuri begin to shake, in anger, disgust, and grief, and the blond hadn't a clue as to what to do in order to soothe him. "God…" he heard the king whisper breathlessly, voice chocked with the tears he was desperately trying to hold back.

"Whoever was responsible obviously wanted your full attention," Gwendal said, retrieving something from within his long green jacket, the rustling of paper reaching their ears. "Our men discovered this note attached to one of the bodies."

Slowly Yuuri's hands lowered and he turned towards the dark haired demon, glancing at the paper that was being held out to him with moist eyes. He reached for it with a light sniffle, snatching it away and bringing it up to read, noting the splotch of dried blood and the gash at the top, from where it had most likely been attached to the body by a blade of some sort. Yuuri gulped harshly before letting his eyes trail over the words, his hands shaking as he got to the end.

Wolfram looked over his shoulder to glance at it as well. It was short, and written in human text, but the penmanship was neat, precise, and of a higher quality than that of a commoner. It seemed as if certain amount of effort had been put into it to make it a bit personal, addressing Yuuri formally, and acknowledging the evening's wedding in an almost congratulatory manner, though the "gift" that had accompanied it was anything but. The words themselves also held a tone of warning, the final two clearly meant as an insult, though it was difficult to say if it had been directed to Yuuri, or if the author had meant for Wolfram to read it as well.

"'Demon Whore?'" the blond frowned, green eyes narrowing in offense, caring more about that than he did the fact that the note had been left unsigned. "Who the hell does this person think he is calling me a-"

"That's the least of our worries," the Chief of State told him, curtailing the tirade that had been on the verge of building. "You should be more concerned about who wrote it than what his thoughts are on your position as the king's spouse."

Wolfram failed to reply, and kept the rest of his comments on the matter to himself.

The king fisted the letter once he'd read over it a few times, crumbling it within his hand as he gritted his teeth, wrinkling the parchment as the level of his own angered increased dramatically. "Belar…" he nearly growled, dark eyes narrowed and glaring across the room, as if he could see the man right in front of him. His whole body was tense, and again Wolfram could feel the surging of power, the sense stronger now through their physical contact. It was almost enough to have him lowering his arms and inching away, but he held fast to his courage and to his king.

"As we said before, we do not believe it was Cimaron," Conrart cautiously reminded him, looking tempted to approach the younger man and place a consoling hand upon his shoulder. He stood his ground, however, and remained far more formal than he would have been on a different occasion.

"It certainly doesn't seem like something Belar would do," the Sage observed, breaking out of his self-induced silence. "He'd sooner capture our people an enslave them than murder them so savagely. It's true that he relies on fear as a means to gain control, but…" he trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. "Mass murder isn't his style."

"Then who else could it have been?" the blond wondered when very few names came to mind. "No one else had been causing any major problems lately. Cimaron's the only opposing human country currently conducting any military operations."

"Perhaps others felt they could actually get away with it," Gwendal began, "seeing as our king has so far been unwilling to stop them."

"Gwendal!" Conrart shouted in disapproval, watching as Yuuri visibly flinched.

"Do not try to protect him, Conrart!" the older man shouted right back. "This is entirely his fault!"

"None of us could have known!"

"We have been attacked three times in the last half a year!" Gwendal pointed out, voice loud and unrelenting. "Cimaron has declared war on us and has moved half of their army to our border! It was only a matter of time until our other enemies took advantage of the grand opportunity we've presented them with!"

"Stop it!" Wolfram demanded, hating the way the taller demon was accusing the double black without even considering his current feelings. "This isn't his fault!" he exclaimed, staying where he was, embracing the emotional boy as he faced his oldest brother's darkest, most intimidating glare.

"You're right," Gwendal eventually agreed, nodding curtly. "It's mine. I should have sent the troops out months ago, with or without a Declaration."

"You can't do that!"

"Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do!"

Wolfram almost backed down, never any good when it came to standing up to his eldest sibling, but his resolve strengthened when he reminded himself that he was no longer ranked below the blue eyed aristocrat. "You're not allowed to send our men to war without the proper documentation, and the only person who can sign that is the king!" he said. "If you do so without his approval, you'd be breaking the law! You could be arrested and tried for treason!"

"Shibuya is no longer the only one with the authority to sign a War Declaration," Murata made sure to point out, and Wolfram could feel both pairs of his brothers' eyes boring into him, waiting for his response.

The prince shook his head, holding true to the promise he'd made to Yuuri. "I won't sign one either."

Gwendal looked ready to snap completely at that, sapphire eyes narrowed so darkly his youngest brother couldn't even look at him, his tanned face reddening with an anger that could not be suppressed. Wolfram knew that the older demon lord would have started shouting again, and that his speech would have probably contained a great many insults, both towards him and their king. He was prevented from doing so by Yuuri, who cut him off before his ranting could even begin, dark eyes meeting his adviser's gaze, not hiding or turning away as he'd done when they'd first met.

"Seek out the ones who did this," he ordered, his voice not betraying the whirlpool of emotions swirling within him. In fact, he sounded calmer than he had only a few minutes ago, and it was almost as if he was challenging Gwendal to do more than his demands entailed.

"And when we find them?" Conrart questioned.

"Take them into custody," Yuuri said somewhat confidently, though Wolfram could still feel how tense he was. "We'll find out who it was that sent them and who planned the attack, then I'll speak with them personally."

"Talking to them isn't going to solve anything," Murata warned, repeating his point from the conversation they'd been having earlier.

"You don't know that."

Again Gwendal growled, annoyed by his tactics and his desire to continue with the diplomacy that no longer seemed to be working. "Anyone who'd massacre an entire village is not going to willingly speak with you. If they do, they will ignore every request that you make of them."

"You don't know that either."

"You are a fool!"

"'Who's the more foolish: the fool or the fool who follows him?"

Wolfram pulled away, shocked that Yuuri would say something like that about one of his advisers, and in a way that sounded so taunting. Conrad looked just as surprised by his choice of words, and even perhaps a little disappointed in Yuuri, that he'd stoop so low as to casually insult a man who'd been nothing but loyal to him for the last four years. Even the Sage seemed less than thrilled, though any feelings of surprise he may have felt did not show through on his face. He kept his expression neutral, his gaze steady, eyes only narrowed slightly.

Gwendal turned scarlet, and he looked as if he very much desired to draw his sword and defend his honor, an act that would have seen him restrained and in a jail cell faster than he could sign his name. He appeared to silently debate upon it for a few moments, his right hand twitching, gradually rising towards the hilt by his left side, before he dropped it and clenched his fist, knowing the consequences and the regrets he'd surely have once he was able to cool his head. Instead he pivoted on his heal, angrily stalking towards the door, swinging it open violently, so he could step out into the hall, then slamming it shut behind him, nearly hard enough the splinter the wood.

"Your Majesty…" Conrart began after he was sure the man was truly gone, only to find himself suddenly interrupted.

"I'm sorry, but I'd like to be alone right now," Yuuri requested, turning away from him, already feeling quite ashamed of himself.

The half-human soldier looked ready to argue, but instantly stopped himself. "I understand," he said. "I'll begin establishing a troop of men to carry out your orders," he continued, then turned his attention to the Great Sage. "Your Eminence, I would appreciate your assistance."

Murata knew it was nothing more than a ploy engaged in order to get him to make his departure as well, and though he most likely had much more to say to his earthen friend, he nodded in acceptance. Together the two walked towards the door, saying nothing more to the king.

Before he made a complete exit of the room, however, Conrart turned to shoot a questioning glance in his younger brother's direction, motioning with a quick jerk of his head for the blond to follow them. Wolfram declined with a frown, watching as the brunet sighed then quietly shut the door behind him. _'There's no way I'm leaving him,'_ Wolfram thought to himself, turning back to the black haired boy once they'd finally been left to themselves again. _'I don't care what he says, I'm not going anywhere.'_

Yuuri's back was facing him, his shoulders hunched in defeat, head bowed so that his bangs completely hid the top half of his face. The Prince reached a hand out to him, though he didn't say any words, simply placed his palm against the tense muscles of his back, softly rubbing through his blue night shirt. He almost felt rejected when Yuuri pulled away, his heart clenching tightly when he heard the man he'd married stubbornly hold back a sob, and he wished - not for the first time - that there was something he could do to make him feel better and take his pain away from him.

"Go away," Yuuri said, his voice low and shaky.

"No," Wolfram replied, making sure he kept his own voice soft. "I won't leave you like this."

"I don't want you in here!" the younger man nearly shouted. "Get out of my room!"

It hurt, it hurt so badly, like someone had picked up his sword and speared him through the chest with it, and he was tempted, oh so tempted, to do what Yuuri said and find a nice, secluded part of the castle to hide away and cry in. "Yuuri…" he said his name in a pleading tone, reaching out a second time.

Again, Yuuri pulled away, only this time instead of moving a few inches from where he sat, the emotional king leaned towards the bedside table, where a small vase of flowers sat as decoration. He grabbed it and hurled the porcelain across the room with an enraged shout, where it smashed against the wall and shattered into pieces, littering the floor as the flower petals fluttered down. Harsh sobs wracked his body then, his act of violence against the completely innocent inanimate object having done nothing to release him of the guilt that now suffocated him.

"Please, just go away!" he begged, torn apart by shame and grief. "Go away and leave me alone."

"I can't do that," Wolfram responded, his voice a quiet whisper. "I made a promise," he said, cautiously crawling across the bed, so that he was once more beside the taller man. "I promised you yesterday… that I'd protect you, support you, and comfort you… and that's a promise I intend to keep," he reminded him, tears stinging his own eyes at the state Yuuri was currently in. "I won't ever leave you."

Finally Yuuri looked at him, forlorn and heartbroken, the tanned skin of his handsome face stained by the tears that continued to fall, onyx eyes swollen and red. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked helplessly, chocking on the sobs that refused to calm.

The blond shook his head, finding that words were suddenly hard to come by. "I don't know," he replied, unable to think of any other answer he could possibly give.

"Gwendal was right. It is my fault. Everything's my fault - Cimaron, the wedding, what happened last night in Fane…"

"It isn't."

"I could have prevented it. I could have saved them."

"You shouldn't dwell on what could have been," the prince told him.

"Those people died because I-"

Wolfram didn't want to hear anymore, not now. He knew Yuuri would continue to blame himself - it was something the black haired king had always been known for - and he knew that there was nothing he could do or say that could change his mind and convince him otherwise. So the demon prince didn't even try; instead he raised himself up onto his knees in front of the younger man, leaning close so that he could pull him into the circle of his arms, cradling his head against his chest, salty tears dampening the front of his nightdress. This time Yuuri didn't pull away. He pressed closer, arms clutching at him desperately as he sobbed, his hold just shy of being painful.

Wolfram held him as he cried, shedding a few tears of his own, burying his face against the raven locks of Yuuri's hair as the king hid within his embrace, seeking his warmth, his compassion, the care and devotion he showed even now, even when it seemed as if everyone else was turning against him. For once he didn't pull away from or ignore the feelings he felt emanating from the smaller male, washing over him like a soothing balm, and though it was not enough to completely heal the gaping holes his guilt was leaving inside of him, it replenished his failing courage, his crumbling hope, and calmed the painful beating of his bleeding heart.

"I love you," Yuuri listened as Wolfram whispered to him, and this time there were no feelings of dread at hearing those words, which had succeeded in terrifying him plenty of times before. Now he wanted nothing more than to hear them spoken over and over again, if only to remind himself that he was cared for, that he wasn't completely alone.

"I believe in you."

Yuuri wasn't so sure he believed in himself anymore, but within those words he could hear an echo of the oath Wolfram had made so many years ago, when he'd felt just as lost, just as hopeless - when he'd needed his love most of all.

'_I'll fall with you.'_

**TBC…**


	10. Se Méfier

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Ten - Se Méfier - To Distrust  
**

The child was sleeping, which Gwendal took as a good sign, watching over him as he rested beneath the sheets and blankets in the spare room he'd been placed in when Gisela had brought him back to the castle. Looking around, the Chief of State couldn't help but think that it was too dreary a room for someone so young to be cooped up in. The only furniture was the bed, an old, slightly dusty dresser, and a lopsided bedside table. There was hardly any color besides the brown of the wood and the gray of the stone walls, definitely not the kind of room you'd expect any child to reside in.

He told himself he'd have to rectify the situation soon, and have Alexei placed somewhere where he could recover much more comfortably. He would have ordered that the boy be moved sooner if all the guest rooms had not been occupied by a herd of snobbish nobles, and was now forced to wait until they felt like making their departure - which could be weeks from now. Ever since the massacre in Fane, people had become wary of traveling long distances, afraid of a surprise attack on their way home. Most of those who'd attended the wedding preferred to take advantage of the king's care and hospitality, staying within the safety of the castle walls.

A week had passed by since the incident, and things around the kingdom were only growing worse. They had not experienced an attack since the evening of the reception, nor had they received any information or warnings from Cimaron or any of the other human countries, but their people had reacted as badly to the spreading news as Gwendal had feared they would. He could see the drastic change in their behavior every time he rode through the capital. Their celebrations had ended abruptly and their eyes were now filled with fear. They spent more time inside than they did conversing with neighbors or strolling through the market. A few had even stomped up to the castle gates in order to shout their displeasure in the hopes that the king would hear them.

His Majesty had yet to witness any of their many rants, though Gwendal was severely tempted to drag him outside and force him to listen, see if that were enough to knock some sense into his seemingly empty head. The nineteen year old had more or less closed himself off to the rest of the world since the early morning hours that had seen Gwendal and Conrart in his bedchambers after their return from Fane. The dark haired demon had seen him a handful of times - awkward moments filled with silence, in which the king refused to look him in the eye. His Majesty canceled his morning runs with Conrart and his afternoon magic lessons with Gunter, took his paperwork into his room instead of sitting at his desk in the study, and rarely came to the dinning room for his meals, choosing to have them brought to him instead.

Gwendal supposed the black haired young man was ashamed of himself, perhaps even guilty for what he'd said and done - or hadn't done, as the case may be - but Lord von Voltaire could hardly find it within himself to care. He, too, was angry, more so than he'd been in a long time. If he were to be completely honest, he would admit that there was a small part of him that felt a little guilty for being so unkind towards the obviously distraught man, but he ignored those feelings as best he could, focusing more on his duty than the rift that had suddenly appeared between he and the young king. As far as he was concerned, finding their unseen enemy was more important than fixing their friendship.

Not that they'd come any closer to completing that task in the last seven days. What little information Alexei had been able to provide them with hadn't been very helpful, and they'd inevitably run out of clues after only a few short hours. Yozak was still out scouting around the area where the village used to be, broadening the search when his few leads ran cold, and still he'd found next to nothing. Their enemies seemed very adept at covering their tracks, and had since steered clear of any other villages. No one had caught sight of anyone even vaguely suspicious, leading Gwendal to wonder if the men they were looking for had simply disappeared into thin air - vanished without a trace.

An even worse thought - one that he did not even like to entertain - was that the attack had been carried out by some of their own people, perhaps by those who'd grown angry with the king, and that it had been made to look as if the humans were responsible in an effort to throw off the investigation. Gwendal was not foolish enough to deny that it was a possibility; he just didn't like to think that the demon tribe would do something like this simply to show their displeasure with His Majesty. He couldn't understand how anyone could carry out such an act of violence on their own people. To be angry at the king was one thing; to take out that anger on innocent civilians was something else entirely.

No one had come foreword to accept responsibility, not Cimaron or any of the other hostile human countries, not any of their more questionable allies, not even a band of demon renegades. Cimaron had grown strangely quiet with the coming of fall, their troops stationed along the borders but making no serious moves as the winter season seemed to be approaching quicker than usual. Everyone else seemed uninterested in Belar's war, besides those who'd allied themselves with him. When almost every human country would have jumped at the chance to get rid of the demon tribe years ago, they seemed reluctant to do so now.

Gwendal didn't know what to do, or even if there was anything that he _could_ do at this point. It was like they'd run into a brick wall, with no way of knowing who or what was on the other side. Someone in the world was laughing at the demon tribe right now, no doubt amused by their confusion and inability to find any answers, and everyone else was either as in the dark as they were or too afraid to point fingers. Finding out the truth was beginning to look hopeless, though Lord von Voltaire steadfastly refused to give up. He was not going to let this go without punishing someone.

He sighed heavily as he shook such thoughts from his mind, focusing instead on the young boy who remained in the plain, narrow bed. He was recovering slowly, though Gisela spent a great deal of time with him every day, using her magic in order to speed up the process. His broken arm had been set and placed into a cast, the abused limb resting against his thin chest as he slept, and the deep gash in his side was no longer as serious as it had been just days ago. His bruises had almost faded completely, and although it had been touch-and-go for the first twenty four hours he'd spent in their care, he was now on the road to making a full recovery.

The boy's mental and emotional state, however, was questionable at best. Even after taking the herbs Gisela provided him with to help him sleep, Alexei was tormented by recurring nightmares. He'd woken up screaming more than once, shouting for his parents, crying for his baby sister, and terrified when he didn't recognize the room or the faces that greeted him. Sometimes it took hours to calm him down, and even then he was too frightened to go back to sleep, babbling about the "bad people" and again calling out for Mama and Papa. It pained the stoic man to watch the child cry uncontrollably, sobbing until he was reduced to harsh hiccups and pitiful whimpering, but Gwendal didn't know what to do or say to comfort him.

He felt for the boy, and some part of him was already somewhat attached to the tiny blond, but he had no idea how to act on those feelings. The most he could do was stand by and watch over him, supervise his visits with Gisela and the other medics to make sure he was taken care of properly, then offer him a kind word before going to see to his duties. There was something about Alexei that pulled at his heartstrings, that had him sitting here now, knitting quietly, just as he'd done for Greta many times before. Those large, teal colored eyes would fill with relief when they fluttered open and saw that he wasn't alone in the small, strange room, and the rare smiles that crossed the boy's face caused Gwendal to smile lightly in return.

Alexei had rarely spoken to many people since they'd brought him here, at least not any words that weren't shouted in complete terror. They'd been able to ask him more questions about the night of the attack after his condition had been stabilized and he'd gotten some much needed sleep, but the demon child had been unable to provide them with any more information than what he'd already given. He was too scared to speak of the event for very long, his memories often leading him into a panic, and Gwendal could not find it within himself to push him any further, no matter how important it was for them to have what little information Alexei possessed.

The demon boy was the only one who knew exactly what had happened that night, and he could potentially be the key that helped them unlock the secret of their enemy's identity, but that was not a responsibility Lord von Voltaire felt like burdening him with. It was already bad enough that the poor boy would have to live with those memories for the rest of his life; recounting his tale multiple times in an attempt to answer their questions would only serve to deepen his many emotional scars. He'd gone through more than any child his age should ever have to face, and Gwendal could not force himself to put the child through anything else. Alexei needed time and space to overcome his fears and be a child again, and the dark haired man was not about to delay his return to happiness.

A small, wry smile crossed his face at the thought that it was the older brother in him that was making him feel and act as he was presently. He'd been an only child for many years, before his mother had been named Demon Queen and his father had been killed in a battle, but once he'd had younger siblings he'd taken to the task of caring for them with as much focus as he put into everything else. Conrart had been the first person he'd ever really felt responsible for, and though he'd often resented the fact that their mother had conceived a child with a human, he hadn't been able to hate his brown haired brother. He'd never treated him the way Conrart had once treated their youngest sibling - reading him stories, sharing a bed at night - but he'd never let anyone or anything harm him.

Wolfram had been different, perhaps because Gwendal had been too old at the time of his birth to care much about a new baby in the family. He'd acted more like a father to the boy than anything else, especially after Captain von Bielefeld and their mother had divorced before Wolfram's fifth year. Mother and Conrart had done the nurturing - wiping his tears away when he skinned his knees, praising him for the scribbles he drew on pieces of parchment, cuddling him when he grew scared of bad dreams and thunderstorms - while Gwendal had been the disciplinarian. Wolfram had been a far more difficult child than Conrart, and had required a firm hand and the strict rules that Mother was too soft-hearted to set.

He could easily remember when both of his brothers had been Alexei's age. Conrart had taken to his lessons during the mornings and trained with his father in the afternoons, whereas Wolfram had ran about the castle, leading his tutors on a merry chase through the wide halls, loud and demanding when Conrart had been quiet and obedient. 'I want to play outside!' the blond had shrieked on more than one occasion. 'I want Mother! I want Little Big Brother!' he'd said when everyone else refused to give in easily. More often then not, Wolfram had gotten exactly what he'd wanted; very few people had managed to say "no" to him without feeling guilty and giving in later. Even Gwendal had let him do whatever he'd wanted on occasion, if only to shut the brat up for more than five seconds.

He smirked now as these memories played out in his mind, pausing for a moment in his knitting to stare at the slumbering child. It had been a while since there had been children roaming the halls of Blood Pledge Castle. The palace had become dreary over the last couple of years, dark and gloomy, when it had once been so full of life and laughter. Greta's arrival had helped to lift that dark cloud; she was a little ray of sunshine in the form of a playful, inquisitive human girl, but she had grown up much too quickly, more concerned about clothes and boys now than she was about stuffed animals and fairytales. She had become a young woman, almost an adult according to demon law, no longer the small, scared, and lonely child she'd been upon her arrival.

Perhaps it would do them all some good, then, to keep Alexei here, to allow him to roam through all the rooms and halls the way Greta used to, and Conrart and Wolfram before her. The young boy had nowhere else to go; a search for his extended family had ended with no success, and Gwendal could not even imagine taking him to an orphanage once he'd completely healed. A place such as that was not suited for someone who'd become so emotionally scarred. He required a special sort of attention now if he were to return to the happy child he'd probably been before this nightmare had taken place, something no orphanage could provide him with while there were fifty other children running around.

Gwendal's thoughts were disrupted when the door to the tiny room creaked open, and he stopped his knitting to look up from where he sat in a wooden chair by Alexei's bedside, his left eye twitching slightly when bright red hair and sky blue eyes met his gaze. Anissina offered him a small grin, quietly shutting the door behind her when she noticed that the boy was still sleeping. He wondered for a moment if he should be worried at all, if he should make his exit and find somewhere else to hide, but when he saw her empty handed, with none of her crazy inventions to strap to his head, he supposed it would be safe to stay for the time being.

Anissina stepped quietly across the room, her smile faltering somewhat as she made it to his side in less than four steps, peering down at the child laying in the bed, a look of sympathy crossing her face. The red haired demon noblewoman had long been a supporter for women's rights - she'd begun preaching about the weaknesses and mistakes of men as soon as she'd learned to talk - but she was also very concerned about the children of the world. She'd spent a majority of the last war setting up shelters for women and children who'd been displaced, and when she wasn't using the money she'd inherited to enhance her lab and buy parts for her many inventions, she was pouring it into all sorts of charities, working to protect and better the lives of those less fortunate.

She'd been to see Alexei more than a few times. There was a stack of books containing all of her children's stories on the bedside table, waiting for a time when the boy felt well enough to seek entertainment while he continued to recover. She'd offered to fund the effort to find his extended family, even though they'd been met with little to no success. Gwendal had a feeling that if she were given the opportunity, Anissina would do a lot more, perhaps take Alexei under her wing until they decided what they should do with him.

"I've been looking for you," she said, keeping her voice low so as not to awaken the sleeping blond.

"I don't have the time to help you with your useless inventions," he replied gruffly as he went back to knitting, hoping that if he ignored her long enough she'd take the hint and go bother someone else about being her guinea pig - a tactic that usually never worked, but it was always worth a try.

Anissina von Karbelnikoff had annoyed and terrorized him since her birth, six years following his own - a short span of time in the life of a full blooded demon. Their mothers had been close friends; Cecilie and Lady von Karbelnikoff, Lenore Menz, had gone to school together - a prestigious girl's academy that only daughters of the nation's wealthiest were fortunate enough to attend. Lenore had been an old-fashioned, very demure woman, while Celi had used finishing school as an opportunity to expand her already large social circle. Despite their differences in personality, they'd become and remained friends over the years, leading Gwendal and Anissina to grow up in close proximity to one another.

Unfortunately Anissina had taken after her inventor father instead of her quiet, timid mother, and had begun following Gwendal around, tricking him into helping her with her own little experiments as soon as they'd been able to walk. As they'd grown older, and after Lady Lenore had died when they'd been in their early seventies, Anissina had practically moved into the castle, spending more time in the capital than she did in her home territory. Her time with he and his family had only increased when her beloved father passed away from illness once she'd reached a hundred years, and the redhead had made herself a prominent fixture around the palace since then. She'd headed Wolfram's education before Susannah Julia had taken over - and had then continued it when the blue haired woman had met her end - and now offered private lessons to the children of aristocracy.

Many times since Gwendal had become an adult, his mother had attempted to persuade him into developing a more than platonic relationship with his childhood friend - especially recently, with all the excitement revolving around His Majesty and Wolfram's wedding - and while he'd always found something undeniably appealing about a woman who could take care of herself, he had little to no desire to change how things were between them. He could not deny that there was an attachment, a bond of some sort that kept her constantly chasing after him and he unable to truly despise her company, but right now marriage and romance were the furthest things from his mind.

Anissina was a friend, almost like a sister to him, and any sort of deeper feelings would only make life ten times more complicated than it already was. He already had enough to lead a satisfied life; his position as Chief of State gave him the ability to look over and protect the kingdom - a task that was more important to him than all else - and the money he'd inherited from his deceased father would allow him to live comfortably upon his retirement. There was nothing more he wanted, nothing more he could possibly ask for, and he knew Anissina would feel the same way as long as she was permitted to keep her laboratory.

"That's not why I've been searching," she answered him with a light chuckle, her cerulean eyes sparkling in amusement. "Although I'd be more than happy if I were able to acquire your assistance later this afternoon."

"And you will understand if I am disinclined to offer my assistance," Gwendal said, eyes focused on the Sand Bear he'd been working on so diligently for the last hour or so. "There are other things that require my attention."

"More important than helping an old friend?" she prodded teasingly, her cheeky grin still in place.

"You already know the answer to that."

The red haired female released a heavy sigh, though Gwendal couldn't help but think it sounded empty and fake. "If you were any other man, I might feel insulted," she said, bringing another wooden chair up to the bed's side and sitting down in it with more grace that one would expect from someone as loud and outspoken as Anissina. "But you're not any other man, and I'd never expect anything more. The next time Lady Celi suggests marriage to you, you should go ahead and tell her you're already married to the kingdom."

Gwendal's response was a grunt, but somewhere inside he was seriously considering it, wondering if that just might work. It would be a relief to have Mother stop hounding him, and perhaps turn her attention to Conrart instead - who was more adept at handling their rambunctious mother than he had ever been.

"Anyway," Anissina began again, returning to the real reason she'd come to find him. "Günter's been looking for you. He said something's come up, and I figured I'd be able to find you here."

Gwendal frowned, not realizing he could be so predictable, before fixating his attention on things of a greater importance. "What is it he wishes to discuss?"

"Apparently Yozak's returned."

"With information?"

"I'm assuming. I doubt he'd come back empty handed when he knows you want nothing but results," Anissina observed, knowing how important all of this was for her childhood friend. He'd spent so much of his life protecting and looking over the kingdom that not knowing who and where their newest enemy was was frustrating him to no end. "Everyone's waiting for you in His Majesty's study."

The dark haired Chief of State released a heavy sigh at that, placing his knitting aside as he stood from the uncomfortable wooden chair, intent on making his way to the designated room and discovering what all of this was about. He stopped momentarily in his journey to the door when his sapphire gaze fell upon the child still asleep in the bed, and feelings of regret began to wash through him as he thought about leaving the child on his own. What if the boy woke up and saw that he was alone? What if he became afraid when no on was there to greet him when he opened his eyes?

Anissina seemed to notice his indecision, for she smiled up at him reassuringly, maneuvering her chair so that it was a few inches closer to the bed than it had been. "I'll watch after Alexei," she offered, turning to stare at the small demon child. "You go play mediator."

Gwendal grunted in reply, but was truly thankful for her generosity. He was about to leave the tiny room then, preparing himself for the arguing that was no doubt about to commence, but was stopped from departing when Anissina called out his name, her voice quiet, but the seriousness in it caused him to take the time to turn and face her again.

"What are you going to do about the boy?" she asked, truly concerned about his fate.

The dark haired man didn't know what to say, and so he stayed silent for a long moment, contemplating the question that had been presented to him. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he couldn't _not_ do something, that he couldn't just leave the child to himself, to attempt to survive in a world that had brought him so much pain. But beyond that he had no clue. It was as much of a mystery to him as their current crisis was.

What was he supposed to do?

Or perhaps the correct question was: what did he _want_ to do?

"Whatever I can," he finally said, figuring that was the best answer he could give at the present time.

He left right after the words had escaped his mouth, shutting the door as quietly as his friend had when she'd entered, his frown deepening as he began his trek down the halls, wondering what Yozak had to say that Günter felt it important enough to call everyone together for a meeting. He'd heard very little from the orange haired spy in the past few days, at least not anything encouraging, so he could only hope that now there had been some sort of a break through, and that the information the blue eyed man had could help alleviate their present situation.

He took the less used halls of the castle, familiar with every foot of the large structure, having lived there for a majority of his life. He had no desire to run into anyone on his way to the king's study. He was in no mood to talk, not to any of the snotty, spineless dimwits currently taking up residence in the guest rooms, nor to the giggling and gossiping maids. There were very few things on his mind at the moment that did not have to do with the kingdom, and he did not want to be distracted in any way, focused on this issue to the point of obsession.

It didn't take long at all for him to arrive, and he quickly opened the heavy door, dark blue eyes scanning the room to take in all those who had gathered. The high-backed chair behind the king's desk was empty, their black haired sovereign no where to be seen - although Gwendal had not seriously expected him to be there. Everyone else was standing in various places about the room. Mikhail was by one of the tall windows, staring out over the castle grounds somberly, arms crossed over his chest, his usual pleasant mood having dissipated many days ago. Winifred, Griselda, and Marlena stood of to the side, whispering amongst themselves suspiciously, while Julius chose to seclude himself in one of the room's corners, away from all the others.

Auberon was by himself, though closer to the others than von Mannheim. His younger brother stood by the side of the previous queen, who's flirtatious smiles had disappeared after she'd learned of the attack that had occurred within her country. Odell and Stoffel were at her other side, the later quietly speaking with Raven, though it was easy to tell by the serious look on his face that he was no longer as concerned with getting into His Majesty's good favor as he used to be. His Highness was present in the room as well, standing in front of the wooden desk with Yozak, Günter, Conrart, and GegenHuber, dark eyes looking intently around the room.

"Gwendal," Günter said his name to acknowledge his arrival, the others quickly falling silent as he shut the door behind him.

Against his will, Lord von Voltaire's eyes settled on the vacant chair behind the desk, a part of him having hoped that His Majesty was concerned enough to attend this meeting despite the harsh way they'd previously spoken to one another, disappointment filling him when nothing filled the desk's space but stacks of papers, a quill and a jar of ink.

"His Majesty is returning his parents to their home on Earth," Conrart informed him when he noticed the direction of his older brother's gaze.

Gwendal didn't care what the reason was. He didn't think there was any excuse that could explain the dark haired boy's negligence of his duties. "You have information," he said to Yozak, half in question, half as a casual statement.

"Not the sort we desire," Gunter said lowly, turning his lilac eyes away in what appeared to be sadness, leaving the Chief of State to wonder what had occurred to make his old friend seem so glum.

"Explain," von Voltaire demanded of the spy, frowning deeply at von Christ's reaction.

"Merton, one of our coastal villages in the territory of Christ, was subject to an attack early this morning."

He didn't have to say any more than that. It was obvious by the solemn looks on everyone's faces that it had not been one of the normal attacks carried out by Cimaon before the wedding, but one similar to what had happened in Fane - another massacre. It certainly explained Günter's fowl mood, and the sternness adopted by the rest of the council. Gwendal himself began to feel a familiar rage bubble up within him, his hands fisting at his sides.

"It was reported by one of the local militiamen who managed to escape," Yozak continued, staring at his commanding officer levelly.

"Who was it?" Gwendal asked, voice harsh and dark.

"Our friends in black. We weren't able to get much more out of him before he died. I sent a group of men to investigate, but I don't think there's much hope in finding anything else."

Silence reigned for a long moment, all of them thinking about what to do.

"His Majesty will need to be informed when he returns," Lady Celi spoke up, her cheerfulness and laughter gone in the face of this sudden disaster.

"_His Majesty _should be here attending to his kingdom, _not_ off gallivanting around in other worlds," Auberon said bitterly, light blue-green eyes narrowed sharply. "And where is his husband? I didn't agree to this marriage for that brat to sit around doing nothing."

"It's no wonder out enemies think so little of him," Winifred muttered, more to herself than to anyone else, though they all heard her, and knew what she was referring to. The note that had been left at the scene in Fane had been read by them all, and while they'd taken the threat seriously, a few of the Aristocrats chose to see a certain amount of truth in the written words instead of taking it as an insult - as they rightly should.

"I don't believe any of your slanderous comments are necessary at this time," Gwendal bellowed at her before she could continue any further, glaring angrily, feeling his anger increase at the old woman's apparent lack of respect.

"Gwendal," Celi called to him. "Please remain calm," she said soothingly. "What we now face will not be solved through arguing."

"We would not be facing this now if we had a king who actually saw to his duties!" Griselda von Hassel shouted.

"Hold your tongue, you conceited witch!" Günter barked in return, his lavender eyes blazing with an angry fire as his gaze shot up to her. "How dare you insult His Majesty so flippantly!"

"I can think what I want," the woman responded defensively.

"It's one thing to think it," the king's adviser stated, "it's completely different when you speak such treasonous words!"

"How can you support him after all that's happened? Your people have been targeted, von Christ," Marlena cut in. "Your citizens have been savagely murdered. No doubt they've done the same in Merton as they did in Fane. How can you still aid a king who cares naught for the people you serve?!"

"You know nothing of what His Majesty cares about!" Günter continued in a raised voice, defending the king even now, making it obvious that the lavender haired man still believed in him, despite the tactics he and Gwendal were using to succeed in having a Declaration signed. "He thinks of the people more than you ever have or will! Do not speak so lightly of his devotions!"

"Then why is this still happening?!" Auberon forcefully asked. "Why are we continuously being attacked?"

"That has nothing to do with the king!" Mikhail joined in, defending Yuuri as well. "Instead of attempting to place any sort of blame on him, you should be more concerned about the identity of our newest enemy, as well as their current whereabouts!"

Odell turned to Yozak, his well aged face pulled down as he frowned, the stern set of his features causing him to look even older than he was. "Was there no new information that could be provided to us?"

The orange haired man shook his head slowly, a disappointed look entering his bright eyes. "Nothing different from what the boy could tell us. They wore black, and it seems as if they are far more skilled than our militiamen. They're trained soldiers, that much we know."

"He couldn't further describe their uniforms, or the flags they carried?" Stoffel wondered, though few of them thought it would be so simple to discover their identity, not when they'd had so little luck in the last week.

"They carried no flags," GegenHuber answered him, having been helping Yozak in his search. "And we know of no countries with black uniforms."

"Then they're concealing their identity," Julius stated the obvious.

"We've got men searching around Merton and Fane, and still we've found nothing," Yozak said. "Whoever these people are, they're skilled at hiding their tracks. There isn't any sign that they've been through the forest in recent weeks, nor were we able to gather any information in the nearby villages. No one's seen anything. As of now, we've run into a dead end."

"Merton is also along the Garonne River, just as Fane was. They could have followed it and escaped by sea," Wolfgang observed, knowing the lands by the sea better than anyone currently in the room.

"Wouldn't we have noticed their ship?" Stoffel inquired, appearing doubtful.

"Perhaps they boarded one of our own," Marlena replied, crossing her arms under her bosom. "They may have used a passenger liner or merchant's vessel."

"Their numbers would have been too great to utilize such things without rousing suspicion," Mikhail pointed out, remaining at his place by the window, though his gaze was no longer looking upon the world outside, but on those who shared the room with him.

"How many men do we suspect carried out the attack?" Odell voiced another question.

"It's difficult to say," Yozak answered him. "Our only living witness doesn't have a clear recollection." His gaze strayed to Gwendal at this statement, a pointed look that clearly stated he knew there could be more information if only the older man would allow them to further question the boy. "It could have been as many as a hundred, or half that depending on the level of their skill." He paused, allowing a short moment of silence to pass. "It could have been as little as twenty."

Auberon scoffed in his usual fashion. "You expect me to believe twenty men were enough to massacre a village the size of Merton, or the size of Fane for that matter?"

"It's entirely possible," Julius said. "Both villages were surrounded by natural barriers - the oceans, forests, and rivers - but that does not mean it is impossible for intruders to make their way in. We had no soldiers stationed in either village, and the local militias were made up of nothing more than fisherman and farmers. Pitchforks and hoes will not get you far against a soldier who's spent years perfecting his swordsmanship."

"What else do we know about this invisible enemy?" Winifred demanded of those with the intelligence, her face pinched in displeasure.

"They spare no one," Conrart finally spoke up, slightly annoyed that she'd even have to ask when they'd all spoken on this topic more than once in the last seven days. "The soldiers of Cimaron at least have enough compassion to spare the lives of women and children."

"That, and we know the color of their uniforms," Yozak added. "The boy could have been mistaken the night of the attack in Fane since it was so dark, but the raid in Merton happened while the sun was out. There was no way our witness could have been mistaken."

"I know of no country who's military uniforms are black," Griselda said, the same observation they'd made more than once already. "Kings and nobility may wear it, but not common soldiers."

"So unless you expect us to believe a group of human royalty banded together and sacked our villages, the child _and_ the militiaman are both mistaken," Auberon said dismissively.

"We've spoken with the boy more than once," GegenHuber retorted smoothly. "He's very adamant that the attackers were wearing black."

"He was probably terrified," Winifred suggested. "You can't expect him to remember anything clearly."

"The mind of a child is an amazing thing," His Highness spoke for this first time since this meeting's commencement, shaking his head at von Yale's conjecture. "If he claims black was their color, then we have no right to question it."

"And do you have any idea who would be insane enough to conduct such a heinous act, Your Eminence?"

"I don't," the Great Sage denied, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

Gwendal didn't know what had gone on in the King's chambers before he and Conrart had arrived in the early hours of that fateful morning, but the Sage seemed to have distanced himself from his friend since then, speaking to him even less than Gwendal himself did. Von Voltaire had yet to question the dark haired young bespectacled man about the incident, but he thought it obvious that there was suddenly a rift between His Majesty and His Highness as well. Whatever they'd been discussing, they hadn't done so civilly, and the end result had put a strain on their friendship.

"Could it have been one of Cimaron's allies?" Stoffel wondered.

"Possibly," Hube nodded imperceptibly. "Though we've detected little to no activity from them."

"What about Isidore?" Julius suddenly asked, causing a cold shiver to travel through many of those who had gathered. None of them relished the idea of Lyron joining Belar in his insane objective.

Yozak shook his head quickly, orange bangs shifting over his forehead. "Lyron's interest in forming an alliance with Belar seems to have died," he said, though he did not at all sound confident. Just because Lyron refused to join the king of Cimaron did not mean they had no plans to attack on their own. Either way the results would be disastrous. "He's refused to sign a treaty. So far, they've remained a neutral country."

"They do not need to work alongside Belar to be hostile towards us," Griselda said. "They are fully capable of acting on their own."

"But why stoop so low?" Conrart wondered, not thinking Lyron would resort to such things when he had in his possession the greatest military power in the world. "Isidore's army greatly outnumbers our own, and Lyron knows that. Why would he resort to such tactics if he could very easily gain victory over us."

"Perhaps he's toying with us," Stoffel suggested.

Marlena shot a heavy glare in his direction. "Perhaps we wouldn't be in this situation now if you hadn't forced us into war all those years ago," she muttered under her breath.

Lady Celi heard her either way, her gaze hardening as she speared the other woman with the most intimidating glower she could muster. "If you have something to say, then you should say it so we all can hear you. Otherwise, shut your mouth."

"Do not try to order me around!" Marlena shouted at the older woman. "You gave up that right when you stepped down! Now you're nothing more than a powerless twit, whoring yourself out on your so called 'journey for free love!' It's no wonder the author of that note thinks your son is a whore when you're no better than a common prostitute!"

"How dare you?!"

Rarely had Gwendal ever seen his mother truly angry. She could be annoyed, frustrated, but infrequent were the times when she would raise her voice in fury. A majority of the times she ignored what others said about her, unconcerned about their thoughts and opinions, but she would never stand for anyone insulting her family, especially her three sons. She'd been forced to defend Conrart and her second husband many times over the years. A half human child - or a full human child for that matter - had never been considered a legitimate heir until His Majesty's adoption of Greta.

Bastard children, also, were not held with the same regard as those born to parents joined by marriage, and although their mother had married Captain von Bielefeld before Wolfram's birth, the fact that he'd been conceived out of wedlock had never sat right with many of those in the imperial court. He'd been looked down upon for most of his life, especially when his poor behavior had escalated following the revelation of Conrart's parentage. His tantrums had always been a great source of irritation among the nobility, as many found such inappropriate childishness atrocious, not befitting of a prince.

Gwendal himself had attempted to curb his youngest brother's foul disposition many times, but all of his efforts had been in vain. He could say that being the youngest child had been the main source of Wolfram's spoiled nature, but the true answer was the mixture of traits he'd received from both of his parents. Wolfgang von Bielefeld had been known for his hotheadedness in his youth; adding to that the stubbornness that was prominent in many of those of the Spitzweg family would turn out a young man who was exceedingly rash. The ease with which Wolfram fell into his jealousy as well as his desire for attention had also been passed onto him from their mother.

"What right do you have to question my children's honor?! What I have done in my life has absolutely nothing to do with them!" the previous queen continued to shout, barely held back by one of her brother's hands on her shoulder. The murderous look on her face was so like one that Wolfram wore that it was almost frightening. The striking resemblance between the two had always been apparent, but no more so than when they expressed the emotions they kept locked away.

Gwendal amused himself for a moment with the thought of his mother breaking free and gouging the hateful woman's eyes out with her perfectly manicured fingernails, but stopped himself from smirking at the mental image with a reminder that this was no laughing matter. As much as he despised a majority of those among the Ten Aristocrats, allowing themselves to be drawn into an all out fight now of all times would be the least productive thing they could possibly do. The animosity would always be there, he knew that well enough, but now was not the time to act on it.

"That's enough," von Voltaire broke in before the argument could escalate further, wondering why he was the one always breaking up the squabbles that occurred when he and the others were gathered together. "Let von Grantz think as she wishes. Her ignorance and lack of respect for the monarchy will not get her very far."

Cecilie backed down, although her glare did not dissipate, while Marlena continued seething, turning her look of umbrage upon the oldest of the blonde woman's children. "Ignorance? If there is anyone in this room plagued by ignorance, Lord von Voltaire, then it is you! How can you, von Christ and von Karbelnikoff continue to follow the king after everything that's happened. Is it not obvious to you that he no longer cares?!"

"We follow the king's orders because it is our duty to do so," Mikhail responded in Gwendal's place.

"It is also our duty to question him when he is at fault," Winifred countered. "He is not a god, and although he possesses many of the Original King's powers, he is as imperfect as the rest of us."

"You're right about that," the Great Sage spoke up again, attracting the attention of all the others, many of whom held higher respect for him at this point in time than they did for the king. They felt as if they could reason with him better, that he would be more likely to listen to their concerns and attempt to do something about it instead of simply listening and making promises that were beginning to seem empty. The Sage was a source of comfort to them, perhaps the only person who could convince the king and prince of the necessity of warfare.

"However," the younger man went on, dark eyes slightly narrowed behind wire rimmed glasses, "Your unwillingness to serve the king could potentially lead our people into a rebellion. That is something we do not currently need to deal with. You should be focusing your attention on that which is most important, and right now that's discovering who launched these two attacks."

"Why don't you speak with the boy," Auberon wondered. "Surely you would succeed where the rest of us have failed."

"Shibuya will not be easily convinced. I have spoken with him and Prince von Bielefeld already. Neither of them are willing to sign a Declaration."

"Fools!" Lady von Yale scoffed. "The both of them! How do they expect us to accomplish anything when they continue to resist. If anything is going to start a rebellion it will be their resistance. Surely you've all heard the people ranting at the palace gates. It will only be a matter of time before it escalates into a riot."

She was correct to state that, and though Gwendal agreed with her in that respect, there was still nothing any of them could do to force the king or prince to sign the documentation until the right moment. His Majesty being away as he currently was presented them with a wonderful opportunity, but the fact that Wolfram had not joined them in the study, as well as the presence of Conrart, their mother, and Captain von Bielefeld gave them very little chance of doing anything without starting another huge argument. They would have to bide their time, do what they could now and wait for another chance.

Gwendal could only hope it would be soon. Once all this bickering was over and they could finally do something productive about their present problem, then things would be solved relatively quickly. It was His Majesty's hesitance that was prolonging the madness, that was putting their people in so much unnecessary danger. Once they were passed that, there would be nothing to hinder them further.

"I want you to return to the scene of the attack," Lord von Voltaire said, turning sapphire eyes to Yozak and GegenHuber, the pair of them nodding their heads in acceptance. "Spread out the search party," he ordered, "and follow the river. Perhaps Captain von Bielefeld was right about them using it as a guide to the coast."

The navy captain stepped foreword at that, his pale blue-green eyes staring levelly at the oldest of his two step-sons. "I will depart tomorrow and rejoin my men. We will set sail and begin searching the waters for any alien vessels."

"That would be wise," Gwendal agreed.

Griselda and the other two Lady Aristocrats simply glared further, their displeasure more than apparent. "How long will you allow this to continue?" von Hassel asked, the look of fury neither leaving her face nor lessening in the least. "What will it take before you finally do more than what the king will allow?"

"There is nothing more we _can_ do," Günter put in, "not until we discover our enemy's identity. If we went to war now, who would you have us attack? We cannot blame the innocent, not unless we want to anger them and increase the number of countries we have rising against us."

"Put more pressure on Cimaron," Auberon suggested. "Surely they know who is responsible."

"They wouldn't tell us even if they did know," the Great Sage told them all, his youthful looks often causing them all to overlook the vast amounts of knowledge his many previous lives had provided him with. "Right now, this is all we can do."

It was a sobering thought, considering they had close to nothing to go on. But none of them could argue the fact that he was correct. The room fell eerily silent then, with the only sound being the strong gusts of early autumn wind that blew outside, chilling the world around them. It was a world that had suddenly been thrown into darkness. After so many years of peace following the previous war, after all that His Majesty had done to bring happiness into the lives of their citizens, there was nothing they could do now but watch as all of their efforts began to crumble down around them.

* * *

"I'm worried."

Cecilie von Spitzweg sat demurely upon a cushioned arm chair within the sitting room that connected to her bed chambers, stacks of old, crumbled and slightly musty documents spread out across the low table that rested by her knees. Not much time had passed since the most recent of the many meetings that had taken place in His Majesty's study, and once it had completed she'd felt the desire to seclude herself away from the others, at least until she was able to replace her cheerful mask. The most recent events that had been taking place in the kingdom had made it difficult to do so, leading her to spend many hours without the presence of others.

That wasn't to say she was alone, for even when she felt the need to hide away, she disliked being completely by herself. Wolfgang stood off to the side, though it was difficult to say if he was even paying attention to her, his concentration seemingly focused elsewhere. His scarred face remained as blank as always, but by the look in his pale blue-green eyes she could tell that he was in deep thought, his lips turned down in a severe frown. He had not spoken much with her since the beginning of the hostilities with the humans, but the former queen knew that her former king was just as concerned as she was about the current affairs.

The raid in Fane - and the most recent one in Merton - frightened her, for more reasons than the fact that they knew not the identity of their attackers. The destruction they'd experienced was oddly reminiscent of certain incidents that had occurred in their country's past, when relations with the human nations had been no where near as pleasant as they were now. The demon tribe, as proud and strong as they were, were not without faults, and had been known in times before to engage in certain tactics that were not always considered ethical. They could be just as corrupt as the people they'd fought against for so many years, and had once - long ago - been compared to Cimaron in the vile manner in which they had conducted themselves.

Cecilie's own father had been a great warrior, and had often recounted the battles in which he had fought during the dinner parties he'd hosted to entertain his friends. As a child she'd been held captivated by his many tales, some of which had amused her, and others that had frightened her enough to make her wonder what kind of man her father had truly been. In her years as queen, it had been these memories that had caused her to strive for peace, what had sparked her hatred for warfare and bloodshed. But even then she'd been unable to stop the inevitable - and she knew their current monarch would be just as inept, no matter the amount of compassion he possessed.

"You should tell them," Wolfgang spoke quietly, his cool, solemn voice breaking the blonde woman out of her thoughts.

She looked up at him in surprise, but did not pretend to be ignorant of what he was referring to. He knew her too well to be unable to know what she was thinking, or what caused her such worry. "I may be wrong," she replied, hopeful still. "I was sure someone else would have mentioned it by now. I could be mistaken. You know I've never been very knowledgeable about politics and warfare."

"The similarities are too striking for it to be mere coincidence," the navy captain pointed out. Apparently he did not doubt her suspicions as much as she herself did.

Lady Celi averted her green eyes down to the papers splayed before her, knowing deep down that he was right. Gwendal and Conrart, and others of their age may not have noticed the likeness of the recent attacks to some the demon tribe themselves had conducted before even she had been born, but it surprised her that none of the older Aristocrats had made the connection yet. It wasn't as if such things had been omitted from their history books or kept from their knowledge. They were all aware of the shortcomings of their ancestors.

There had been many wars in their country's history. The kingdom itself had been founded after the great war with The Sovereign over four thousand years ago, and they'd continued to fight major military battles since then - some that they'd irrevocably lost, and others in which they'd gained victory. Even now they had many enemies, human kings and queens who mistrusted them because of their great powers and inhuman life spans, rulers who wanted to vanquish those they thought were capable of standing in the way of their endeavors. The Great Demon Kingdom had had to defend herself many times since the year of her birth, and had suffered many losses because of it.

But though the demon tribe had been attacked more times than they had done the attacking, it did not mean they were free from blame or guilt. The previous Lord von Spitzweg had told her many times - most often while he'd been in a drunken stupor - of raids their people had conducted upon the humans. They'd been ruthless and vengeful, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people, more than they could ever hope to account for and record correctly. Even in the war with Cimaron that had taken place twenty-four years ago, some of their men had taken to ravaging human villages along the borders - both abroad and within their own country - setting them on fire and massacring their citizens.

Maybe back then they hadn't been nearly as vicious, but the attacks on Fane and Merton were almost direct copies of assaults the demon tribe had conducted on their enemies before. Her own childhood had been filled with trying years consisting of battle after battle, and the destruction that had taken place had been like nothing anyone had experienced since. Disaster after disaster had befallen many a kingdom, to the point where they'd been left crippled practically beyond repair. Cimaron had split into it's big and small entities back then, and Francia - once a strong, proud kingdom - had become the weak, defenseless, dependent one it was today.

"At least inform His Majesty," Wolfgang told her after a long moment of silence. "He has a right to know."

"Oh, Wolf, I couldn't do that!" she bemoaned, thinking of the poor, distressed boy. She felt sorry for him, knew all too well what it was like being forced into these sorts of decisions, the frustrations and pressures it brought that were almost overpowering. "He's already got so many other things to worry about at the moment. He's upset enough as it is. I couldn't… I couldn't put more unnecessary pressure on him."

"Then speak with Wolfram."

Green eyes rose up to meet his level gaze, her pale face contorting in grief as she shook her head.

Just thinking of her youngest son caused her heart to tighten painfully. For years now she'd alternately supported his engagement to His Majesty and wished with everything in her for it to end. She'd been both surprised and excited upon the night of the new king's proposal, having known that the boy had had no idea as to what he'd done (or gotten himself in to), but happy for her youngest child, almost relieved. He'd spent so much of his life struggling to catch up with everyone else, to prove himself to those who looked down on him, that she'd been comforted with the idea of their betrothal.

At least with His Majesty he would be provided for. Neither she nor Wolfgang could do much in the way of accommodating his wants and needs, for both she and her former husband were second children, and had been left with very little money. Wolfgang had lost most of what he'd gained over the years through his own struggles, and she herself had made the error of flagrant spending, so that she was left dependent on her older brother after stepping down from the throne. That had left her two youngest children with very little to live off of. Conrart had been lucky that his own father had earned enough in his life for his son to live comfortably; Wolfram hadn't been as fortunate.

Before the young boy-king had come along, Wolfram had been under the primary care of his oldest brother - Cecilie had had very little to do with his upbringing once he'd begun his sword and magic training, and had counted upon her oldest to take care of him. The only money Wolfram had ever received had come in the form of a monthly stipend from Gwendal in return for his servitude, though even if the blond boy hadn't done anything in the way of patrols and guard duty, Celi doubted her eldest son would have left him to fend for himself. Giving Wolfram small missions to go on had been his way of disguising what he'd given in pity - and indeed love - by allowing the younger boy to believe that he was working for his allowances.

Because he was the youngest of the von Bielefelds, and because he had been conceived out of wedlock, Wolfram's rank had been barely above that of a common soldier's. He had had little authority, and was forced to live with the humiliation of taking orders from those who had once taken his when Cecilie had been the queen. The level of respect he'd received had been appalling - even now there were many who constantly put him down - and his future had been bleak. There had truly been nothing for him, and for a long time Celi had wondered if he'd spend the rest of his life under the care, protection, and dependency of his older brothers.

His engagement to His Majesty, then - however much of an accident it had been - had been a bit of a relief to her. She knew Wolfram had at first felt threatened by the boy who had come from another world to assume the throne, worried about what would become of him should he fall from the king's favor. The stress he'd experienced and the worries he'd had had all been for naught, however, and though the king had been reluctant to acknowledge the engagement, the mere fact that he now had some sort of a future to look forward to had thrilled her little boy - and her as well. The only thing she'd ever wanted above everything else in the world was not her own happiness, but the happiness of her three sons.

Her oldest had never been happy. Gwendal was content with his role in life, found a small bit of comfort in all the did for the kingdom, but there had been little joy, if any at all. The responsibilities she'd never been capable of facing had been placed upon his shoulders as soon as he'd come of age, and though he'd taken to such things very well and was more adept as solving the problems that faced the kingdom than she was, it had forced him to grow up much too quickly. His childhood had been filled with lessons in etiquette, history, penmanship, and arithmetic, his adolescence with sword and magic training, and his adulthood with the duties he'd since turned into his primary focus.

Gwendal had been born into this world frowning, and she feared he would leave it without ever showing anyone a true smile. There were small ones, occasionally, that managed to slip passed his emotionless mask, but they remained incomplete, false smiles that held very little meaning. Rarely had she heard him laugh, and when he did it was nothing more than a bitter chuckle. His relationships with people were not close ones, and though it was often obvious how much he cared for others - despite his attempts to hide his feelings - rarely did he act upon his attachments. His work came first, making any possibility of him settling down and starting a family as bleak as a snow covered winter plain.

Conrart, at least, had found happiness in his younger years, and out of all of her children, the brunet had probably had the easiest time growing up. Even when his father had left them, Conrart had remained smiling and optimistic, spending almost half of each year with his father on a variety of journeys and adventures, and then the rest of the year at the palace with her, catching up on the studies he'd missed while he was away. When his father had died before ever really saying goodbye to him, Conrart had been old enough to understand the differences between a human's lifespan and that of a demon's, and had most likely prepared himself for the inevitability of his father's passing.

He'd been faced with constant insults from those of pure demon blood, and had been made to feel bad about his human heritage - though Conrart had never been spiteful over his mixed blood. He was proud to be half-human, just as he was proud to be half-demon, and had spent a majority of his later years defending others like him, forming a special unit in the military where other half-bloods could hone their skills and fight for the country in which they lived, the country they gave their loyalties to. Over the course of his life, he'd learned that there were many more like him than others would suspects, and he'd been drawn to them, his brothers in arms.

It wasn't until much later in life that his happiness had been taken away. Susannah Julia's death had been his downfall, his loss of faith, hope, and cheer. She'd been one of his closest friends - there was no one else he'd felt more comfortable around, besides Yozak - and he'd taken her passing harder than he ever had that of his father's. Cecilie had often wondered over their relationship, and though she'd been happy that at least one of her sons was responding to the care of a woman, she hadn't wanted them to grow too close, lest there be some animosity between her second son and Julia's fiancé, Adalbert - the once General von Grantz. Both men had taken her tragic death hard; Conrart had been stuck within his grief for years, and was only now beginning to pull himself out of it.

Wolfram, like his oldest sibling, had never been happy, nor had he been given much of a chance to find happiness for himself, since it seemed as if it was pulled away from him every time he tried. As a child he'd been content, but then most children were often locked in their innocence, too busy with toys and games to care much about what was happening in the world around them. As he had grown, Wolfram's boyhood years had led him into a painful adolescence, filled with mistrust and the hardships of warfare; his innocence had been violently stripped away from him in such a short period of time, whereas most people slowly gave it up on their own. The blond boy had had very little control over his life and his fate, and had simply followed whatever path he thought would lead him to achieve respect and honor.

In recent years, he'd been able to find certain things - people mostly - to ease him slowly back into the contentment he'd had before. The engagement between he and His Majesty had always been rocky at best, and even now there was still the absence of closure. Even so, his friendship with the boy-king had brought him a sense of comfort, a safe haven from the world and it's troubles. He'd never had to prove himself to His Majesty, nor had he ever been faced with the double black's resentment or disappointment. He'd found an equal in the king, someone he could look up to without feeling inferior, and someone who looked up to him at the same time, someone who needed him for who and what he was. The acquisition of a daughter had also given him a bit of peace, as he was able to focus on raising her into a well-mannered princess when His Majesty's attentions were lacking.

However, now that the engagement had been consummated with the recent marriage, her youngest was beginning to fall back into a life of melancholy. Regardless of what became of the betrothal, he would never be completely satisfied until his affections were returned. As of now, that seemed unlikely to happen any time soon. His Majesty seemed both frantic to force him away and desperate to keep him close. Wolfram was constantly being pulled back and forth, his emotions toyed with and inevitably crushed, his future looking as bleak as it had before the dark haired boy came.

And now he was stuck with the duties of a prince. Never had she wished these sorts of responsibilities onto him. Her older two boys had already been plagued by their duties; she'd hoped that at least her youngest would be able to escape from all of that, to do what he wished with his life without the constant worry of failure. Though it was common for boys of Wolfram's rank to enlist in he army when they came of age, she'd prayed with all of her heart that at least one of her children would not be relegated to that sort of life. Watching Gwendal and Conrart head off to war twenty-four years ago had been painful enough; seeing her youngest off would be even worse.

No parent should ever have to bury one of their children - and that was her greatest fear, that one of her three sons would die before she met her own end. It had already happened once before, and though Wolfram's heart had been given back to him, the time between the moment he'd had it taken away and the moment it had been returned had seemed like an eternity. It had been the worse twenty-four hours of her entire life. She would have given anything to see him open his eyes again, to have him push her away and shout at her for smothering him.

"I couldn't tell him either," Lady Celi shook her head at Wolfgang's suggestion. "His situation is already bad enough; I don't want to make it any worse for him."

The navy captain appeared as if he were about to argue with her, but the former queen was quick to cut him off. "He's not happy, Wolfgang. You know that," she pointed out sadly.

"Marrying His Majesty was his choice," her ex-husband told her, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, meeting her with a level blue-green gaze. As much as there sounded as if there were no compassion in his voice, Cecilie knew better than to think Wolfgang did not care for his son. There was not a soul in this world he cared for more.

"Was it?" she asked him, looking up at him sorrowfully. "Was it really, Wolf? What other choice did he have? If he had decided against it, what kind of life would he have had? If he'd broken it off years ago, where would he be right now?"

She knew exactly where he'd be: out on the front lines, trying to regain his honor in the only way he knew how.

"Sometimes I look at him, and he frightens me," she admitted, averting her green eyes so she was once again staring at the many documents spread out before her. "I stare into his eyes, and I see so much of myself. I don't want him to end up like me, Wolf! He tries to be so strong, but no matter what he does…" she trailed off, one of her slender hands coming up to nervously play with the necklace that encircled her throat. "I can't sit here and watch as he falls apart! I can't!"

"You can't protect him from everything, Cecilie," Wolfgang warned her seriously. "He'll never completely grow up until you stop trying to shield him."

"It's always been so hard with him. Gwendal and Conrart… it was so easy to let them go, because I knew they'd be alright without me. I never had to worry about what would become of them; somehow I always knew that they'd make it just fine. But Wolfram…"

"He's no less capable than his brothers are."

"I know that!" she exclaimed, slowly becoming exasperated. She couldn't tell which worried her more at the moment: the stability of the country, or the fate of her youngest son. "I know that more than anyone! I've always believed in him!" she cried passionately, feeling a few stray tears gather into her eyes. "But I keep thinking… I'm so afraid for him. I've already lost him once before. I couldn't go through that again."

"You won't have to," Wolfgang stated, and she knew he was trying to reassure her, though to others his words would have seemed like nothing more than a casual statement.

"You don't know that! You weren't here three years ago when the boxes were opened! You didn't have to deal with the pain of knowing that each of your sons had been created merely to be used as keys! They were nothing more than pawns, Wolfgang, and it took me over a century and a half to realize it! By then it was too late! By then all I could do was watch them drift away from me, and pray to the Great One, or God, or whoever was listening that they'd come back to me!"

There was a long moment of silence before the dirty blond haired man replied to her, as if the captain were trying to come up with something to say in response. "I may not have been here," he slowly agreed, taking a few sedated steps towards her, his voice low but unthreatening, "but you know more than anyone that I know what it's like to lose a child, Cecilie."

Immediately the former queen felt guilty. In her own grief and worry she'd neglected to take the one-armed man's feelings into account when expressing her most troubling thoughts. Out of the four children Wolfgang had conceived, Wolfram was all he had left. The three daughters he'd had with his first wife had died in the previous war - one from illness, one in childbirth, and his youngest girl had been murdered by the traitors that had swept through their kingdom, savagely killing anyone who stood in their way. For years, after the trial that had occurred following the incident in Bastille, Wolfgang had secluded himself away from the world, perhaps lost in the grief that had fallen over him those two decades ago.

"There must be a traitor among us," he said then, and though it seemed as if he'd drastically changed the course of their discussion, she knew it was all interconnected - the battles that had taken place throughout their country's history, the war with Cimaron nearly a quarter of a century ago, the massacre in Bastille, and the destruction of both Fane and Merton were all interconnected, and the both of them _knew _it. Each would inevitably have an affect on their son's life. "You are obligated to inform His Majesty of every one of your suspicions," he continued. "For the sake of our son, Cecilie, at least bring it up amongst the Aristocrats. There's only so much we can do right now. If we were to find the traitor…"

"And how do you suppose we do that?" she wondered, staring up at him with desperation in her green eyes. "We have very little to base our suspicions on. If I brought it up with the Aristocrats it would only lead to more unnecessary chaos; they'd start pointing fingers at one another instead of broadening their search. And your brother…" Lady Cecilie stopped, her sentence trailing off as she thought of her former brother-in-law. "He… he has something against Wolfram…" she began again, somewhat timidly, concerned about how Wolfgang would react to her suspicions.

"You can't possibly think he'd betray us," Captain von Bielefeld replied, slowly shaking his head. "He's not so ignorant as to believe that he could get away with something like that. He doesn't care for Wolfram, it's true. He never has, but he depends on His Majesty's support. The Territory of Bielefeld cannot afford to turn against the crown. We have enough enemies in the world."

Celi said nothing to respond to that, knowing that what he said held true. Though there were a few exceptions, most of the territories depended heavily upon the monarchy, to the point where they would be unable to function as independent states. It had not always been that way, but with so many wars taking place in such a short span of time, and the constant shift in power had depleted a lot of the country's income. The Great One's recent passing had also caused major issues to arise in how the country was governed; laws that had stood for the past four millennia had to be rewritten in order to accommodate their changing nation, and the country had been forced to adapt to life without the Great One's presence.

More than that, Bielefeld had made it's own set of adversaries in the world, mainly after Auberon had been voted in as their representative. The man had a habit of making enemies with nearly everyone he came in contact with, his arrogance and caustic attitude making it difficult for him to get along with even the most patient of people. She could tell by watching the expressions that crossed His Majesty's face that even the kind-hearted boy-king - as caring and compassionate as he was - could not stand to be in Auberon's presence for very long. It was truly remarkable, the way Lord von Bielefeld could turn a person against him after only a few moments. Then again, first impressions were the most important, and Auberon had a way of making a negative one.

Wolfgang, also, had come across many foes over his time in the military, and since he'd become Captain and begun manning his own ship, the number of those hostile towards him had only grown. Most of them were nothing more than petty pirates and mercenaries who'd happened to cross his path, finding themselves housed within a brig or jail cell and awaiting trial. There were others, however, with more power and authority than a few vindictive criminals, Admirals and Captains of human countries who were relentless in their pursuit of revenge against a man who had cost them dearly in previous naval battles.

Over the course of her friendship with the scarred man, Celi could remember a great many threats coming in from those who felt they'd been wronged, and though the former queen had always found such things frightening, Wolfgang had taken them in stride, hardly caring for the danger to his life. It was only after his three daughters had been born, and more so with the birth of his son, that Captain von Bielefeld had begun taking those threats seriously, doing everything in his power to protect his children, even if that meant leaving them and repudiating his role in their lives. She knew he regretted it, but it had truly been the only way to make sure his family was kept safe.

"I don't think it's Auberon who's turned traitor," she eventually told him, again fiddling with her jewelry. "I simply meant that to even suggest that someone had betrayed us would throw the Aristocrats into a frenzy. You know how they'd react, what they'd do. They'd shout at His Majesty and Wolfram more than they already are, even blame them for the betrayal. I can't force that sort of pressure onto them. They're too young."

"Celi," Wolfgang began reproachfully, moving to stand closer to her, but making no move to reach out to her. "His Majesty has been an adult for three years, Wolfram for nearly six. They're perfectly capable-"

"I was much older when I was named queen," the blonde haired woman pointed out, "and I still had problems governing, and not all of those troubles were due to my inability to handle political situations."

"You doubt your own son?" he questioned her despite all her previous denials, his voice dull and even.

"No!" Cecilie exclaimed, pushing herself up from the couch, the quick motion causing a few pieces of parchment to fall from the low table and flutter to the floor. "I doubt the people who serve him, and I fear for his safety! He's in danger, Wolfgang, he and His Majesty both! I can feel it!" She turned towards him, moving so her hands could grip onto his navy colored jacket. "Can't you do something? Can't you order a private investigation? Find the traitor, but keep the Aristocrats out of it."

"Gwendal will not like it," the captain replied, voice still neutral, containing very little emotion, if any at all. "He'd want to know what you have planned. No doubt he already has suspicions of his own."

"This is for you son, Wolfgang. Do it for Wolfram."

He may not have been a very big part of the young prince's life - and Wolfram may not appreciate or even be aware of his father's concern - but Lady Celi knew the slightly younger Captain would do anything he possibly could if it meant protecting his only son, the only child he had left. Her former husband had left after Wolfram's infancy, when the boy had been little more than a toddler, but he'd paid a few visits over his youth, and though those visits had stopped after the trial twenty years ago he'd still expressed great concern for him in the letters he'd occasionally sent to the queen. Wolfgang would do anything for the boy… even kill for him.

"I can spare a few men," he finally relented, releasing a light sigh as he momentarily shut his turquoise eyes, opening them again to spare a look at the relieved expression that had crossed her face. He'd never been able to resist her pleas. "I'll keep the investigation quiet," he added, but stopped her from becoming overly excited. "That doesn't mean we'll keep this between ourselves forever. You must at least tell Gwendal and Conrart. They'd be more adept at dealing with this than I would, anyway."

"Yes, I'll tell them," she reassured him quickly, pulling away and averting her gaze so he couldn't see the look in her eyes. "Eventually," she said, slowly returning to her seat on the cushioned sofa, riffling through the various papers before her and retrieving the ones that had fallen.

"Cecilie," Wolfgang tried to regain her attention, but he was met by stubborn resistance.

"I'll tell them eventually," the previous demon queen repeated. "I don't want to worry them now when they've got so many other things hampering their attention. I'll wait until things settle down a little."

She knew Captain von Bielefeld wished to say more, perhaps continue to try and convince her that she was going about all of this the wrong way, and though she had doubts of her own concerning this little plan they'd devised, she'd convinced herself that this was the best way to go about things at the moment. Gwendal was so focused on finding the ones who'd destroyed Fane and Merton that any more stress added on to all of that would no doubt prove to be too much for the loyal Chief of State, and Conrart's main concern had always been His Majesty. It was better to let them continue as they were, and do what she could from behind the scenes.

Perhaps it was unnecessary, and perhaps it was over protective of her to do such things; she didn't care. Her first priority was to make her youngest son's life as easy as possible. There was no need for him to worry about things of this nature, not when he was already having so many problems with His Majesty. Let the boys work things out between themselves before placing these sort of hard decisions and heavy responsibilities onto their shoulders. For now she would take care of that for them, and at the same time hopefully make up for the mistakes she'd made twenty-four years ago.

* * *

Captain Conrart Weller walked solemnly through the near silent, desolate halls of Blood Pledge Castle. He had no true destination in mind, and though he was curious about a certain someone's whereabouts, the plethora of thoughts currently taking up residence in his mind kept him from actively seeking the young man out.

He'd just come from His Majesty's office, having spent a good portion of the day with His Highness, Gwendal, Günter and the rest of the Aristocrats, formulating plans and readying a troop of soldiers for departure, as well as writing up dispatches to be sent to those still patrolling the area around Fane. His day had been filled with the tedious pre-war duties he'd not had to deal with since the last war, looking over maps and defense reports with Gwendal, discussing the state of their military units with General von Mannheim, and helping Günter with his research on the human kingdoms, all the while hoping to discover the identity of their attackers.

After such a long period of peace and stability within the kingdom, it took a while to re-adapt when things began to turn sour, though Conrart had not been foolish enough to believe that peace would last forever. For the past two decades, ever since he'd returned from guiding His Majesty's soul to Earth, he'd spent a majority of his days training the soldiers, recruiting young men who'd come of age in an effort to rebuild an army that had nearly been crushed in the previous war with Cimaron. Occasionally he'd gone out to settle small disputes within their villages or skirmishes along the borders, but the work then had not been as stressful as it was becoming now. Although the main cause of their present frustrations had more to do with _who_ their enemy was rather than _what _they could do to stop them.

Yozak and Lord Griesela had just left to begin scouting the towns and countryside for information again, and Captain von Bielefeld was preparing for his own departure at that very moment. The rest of the Aristocrats had gone off on their own, unable to bear another second in one another's presence - save for Gwendal, who remained in the king's study, and Günter, who continued his research in the library with the Great Sage serving as an assistant. The lull in activity gave the brown haired captain ample opportunity to see if their monarch had returned from Earth.

He'd seen the boy off this morning, the sudden turmoil that had befallen the kingdom making it a bit unsafe for the Shibuya family to be present any longer than necessary, and so His Majesty had made the wise decision to return them to their home on the other world. He'd promised to returned before the day ended, but Conrart had not seen him since then and - more than that - he was sincerely worried about the younger male.

The double black had not been acting like himself recently, and with the sudden turn in national conditions, the king's entire attitude had changed drastically. Gone were the wide smiles and joyous laughter, replaced now by long, sorrowful looks and heavy signs. It made Conrart a bit apprehensive, and though he'd tried to speak with the king about the recent tragedies, he hadn't been able to say much before Yuuri had requested to be left to his solitude and the brunet had not dared to say more, lest he upset the raven haired young man further.

Conrart could not say he was exceptionally pleased with how things had been going as of late, and though he understood the king's feels and felt sympathetic towards his plight, he also could not help feeling a twinge of disappointment. He knew this was not easy for their boy-king to handle - even after spending four years on the throne, Yuuri had not completely adapted to the ways of this world, and the ideals he'd brought with him from Earth had placed him into a rather compromising position. Still, he'd hoped that along with the physical growth he'd undergone, Yuuri would come to mature enough to see that peace - though ideal - was not always as easy to achieve as speaking with dignitaries and signing treaties.

The captain himself could not claim to fancy warfare, although, at the same time, he could not deny it's possibility, nor could he oppose it. There was only so much he could allow to take place before he too was left itching to wield his sword. He'd fought in a great many battles over the course of his long life - some that had been relevant to ensure their country's survival, and others that had been immoral and unconnected to any dire need for protection. There was more blood and his hands that he would ever admit to his youthful charge, and he'd slain more people than Yuuri's innocent mind could even comprehend.

Yet he still held hope deep within his heart, and it had been the nineteen year old who had instilled it within him. Yuuri had come a long way from the adolescent - almost child - he'd been when he'd first arrived, and though there were still many instances where he needed the help provided to him by his retainers, he'd grown more independent, and could now make kingly decisions without much prodding or provocation. It was only in instances such as these where he continued to balk, stubbornly refusing to give up on the last bit of his Earthen principles.

Conrart feared that would be his undoing.

Turning into the hallway where the rooms of the Royal Family were contained, the hazel eyed man made his way to His Majesty's chambers, hoping the find that the boy had indeed returned while he'd been kept busy, intent on speaking with him before any of the others could inform him of the latest bit of distressful news. He was slightly dismayed to see the door opened, a further inspection leading him to discover the maids cleaning the large room, dusting and polishing the wood and redressing the bed. The king was no where to be seen.

Frowning, Conrart began his search again, another partially opened door some distance away attracting his attention before he could go too far. The door leading to His Majesty's private bath stood slightly ajar, wisps as steam filtering out into the hallway. Instantly the kings guardian was heading towards it, pushing it open further to peer in, gazing through the mist in order toe rest his sights on the warm pool of water. No one sat bathing within it's depths, nor was the serene surface disrupted in any way, devoid of the rippling and swirling that usually accompanied His Majesty's transportations.

The room was not without occupants, however, as Conrart discovered the moment he allowed himself to walk further in. Seated on the floor against one of the walls was his youngest brother, fully clothed and not appearing at all bothered by the noticeably warmer temperature in the private bath, though his hair hung limply about his face, a few stray strands sticking to his fair skin. He sat with his knees bent, arms wrapped loosely around him, as his head leaned back into the stone wall behind him. His eyes were closed, though Conrart knew the younger boy was not sleeping.

"I hope you haven't been waiting here all day," he said, watching with only the slightest bit of amusement as the blond jumped in surprise, obviously having not heard the older man make is entrance. Green eyes fluttered open to glare up at him, and Conrart met the look with a small smile.

"It's none of your business," Wolfram snapped at him, clearly not appreciating his presence, though he made no move to leave his current location, turning away to focus his glare on the tranquil water.

"His Majesty hasn't returned then?" he inquired, though he knew it was really a stupid question to ask. He merely voiced it as a way to keep Wolfram engaged in conversation, intent on speaking with him regardless of whether the prince would rather be left alone or not.

"Do you think I'd be here if he had?"

Conrart released a light chuckle, taking a few steps in order to stand beside the seated royal. "He said he'd return before night fell. It's not even sunset, Wolfram. It could still be a while yet before he arrives."

"Does it look like I care?' the prince muttered, tightening his arms' embrace of his legs a fraction. "I don't want the Aristocrats to start hounding him the moment he gets here," he admitted quietly. Though he hadn't been present at this morning's meeting, it appeared as if he were more than aware of the event. Either their mother had chosen to discuss it with him, or the Aristocrats had taken out their anger towards the king on the dark haired boy's spouse.

"You're very devoted," Conrart observed, his smile widening. It relieved him to see that, despite the distance that still existed between the prince and their king, Wolfram was doing everything he could to stay close to the other young man, and hold to the promises he'd made the night of their wedding. Conrart had honestly been afraid for the two of them, and had wondered if forcing them closer would have done nothing more than push them further apart. "But all of this has been very hard on you as well."

Since the night of the first vicious attack, Wolfram had been by Yuuri's side night and day, hardly leaving the boy to himself. Yuuri, for his part, had been going through periods of shouting at the blond to leave him alone and actively seeking out his companionship. Though Wolfram would never openly confess to such a thing, Conrart knew it hurt his brother to be constantly pulled back and forth, their relationship stuck in limbo for however long Yuuri continued to give into his fears and denials.

"I can handle it," the blond boy responded harshly, a sign that this topic of conversation was not up for discussion. Sometimes the prince was too stubborn for his own good; rarely did he accept support or concern when he needed it most.

That wasn't to say Conrart didn't believe in his younger brother, for truthfully he trusted him a great deal and put a large amount of faith in him. It wasn't exactly proper for a betrothed couple to share a room until after they were married, but having Wolfram with the king had made the brown haired man less worried about the dark haired boy's safety. Wolfram could protect the king when the others were not present, and though certain enemies may be stronger than the fair haired noble, he'd at least be able to hold them off long enough for the rest of His Majesty's aids and guards to arrive.

The emotional support Wolfram provided the nineteen year old with also brought a great sense of relief to the hazel eyed captain. Four years ago Yuuri had been willing to tell Conrart anything - when the king had had a problem that needed to be resolved or a question that needed a quick answer rather than Gunter's long explanations and historical anecdotes, it had been Conrart that the king had sought. In recent years, however, Yuuri had become less inclined to do so, keeping things to himself a lot more than he used to. Conrart had tried numerous times to get the Japanese boy to open up more, but many of his efforts had failed.

In those instances, Wolfram had occasionally succeeded where he could not. The relationship he shared with the king was a special one, and although his common practices were often seen as improper among a majority of the other nobles - insulting the king to his face, openly yelling at him, making demands that were not of his station, and numerous other occurrences - Conrart knew that Yuuri needed that from the other young man. In his own way, Wolfram was trying his best to reshape and mold Yuuri into a decent king, while at the same time attempting to make it so that he could retain his innocence and cheer. All that pushing and shoving had been done with love and his best intentions.

But it had changed the blond youth as well, and Conrart had to wonder if Wolfram even realized this fact.

They all had weaknesses, and these defects had absolutely nothing to do with the level of their skills. Conrart knew he was the best swordsman in the Great Demon Kingdom, and though he knew it did not make him any better than anyone else, it was a fact that he could not escape. Even then, there were ways in which to defeat him, just as there were ways to get to Gwendal, Yozak, Gunter, and Wolfram. Should their enemies look into their backgrounds carefully enough and observe them for extended periods of time, they'd know exactly what to do in order to gain victory over them.

Conrart's weakness was his devotion; the same thing that gave him his passion was also the thing that most endangered his life. He'd do anything if it meant protecting someone, especially the king, even at the cost of his own life. Gwendal's weakness was his adoration for children and his commitment to the kingdom; should the kingdom ever fall, Conrart knew his older brother would fall with it. Yozak was far too careless for his own good, and took risks that were - more often than not - unnecessary. And Gunter had allowed himself to become too influenced by their current king; where he would not have hesitated to kill before, he now refused to spill blood, and though he understood the necessity of warfare, he greatly supported His Majesty's ideals.

Wolfram's weakness was also the source of his strength, it merely depended on the circumstances on whether it was the former or the latter. His love for the king gave him the will to fight, and to actively delve for a brighter future for himself, and yet, at the same time, it could very easily lead to his downfall. Since the moment of the engagement slap, Wolfram and Yuuri's lives had been so tightly intertwined it would be hard to separate them into two different existences. Everything that happened in Yuuri's life affected Wolfram as well, and vice versa. The two boys were as close to one another as they possibly could be with so many un-returned feelings and sentiments.

The newly crowned prince was in danger of being hurt by others as well as by their beloved king, and with the suspicions that had begun to build within the brown haired captain since the ceremony before the actual wedding (Why had the Aristocrats agreed unanimously? They'd been arguing so heatedly before; there had to be some sort of an explanation, and Conrart didn't think he would like it when he discovered what it was.), it angered him slightly to remember that he had been the one to suggest this marriage to the younger boy. He had known before hand how his little brother would inevitably feel about the whole situation, and yet he'd spoken with him about it anyway. His loyalties to the kingdom had truly blinded him if he'd thought things would turn out any differently.

Before either of the two half siblings could say anything else on the matter, a noise from the pool of bath water attracted their attention, and Conrart lamented the lost opportunity. He watched the clear liquid within the steaming room being to ripple and swirl, and though he was delighted to see a head of dark hair rise up from beneath it's depths, he was disappointed that he had been unable to converse with Wolfram for any longer than a few moments. As soon as Yuuri reappeared, Wolfram's attention was completely focused on him, completely ignoring his second brother to the point where Conrart wondered if the blond even remembered that he was there.

"Yuuri!" he said the other boy's name, nearly jumping up from his place on the floor to great him, helping the older looking male out of the bath and offering him the towel Conrart hadn't even noticed he'd had set aside for him.

The brown haired captain watched his king smile warmly at his little brother, taking the drying cloth gratefully, and not complaining at all when Wolfram took it back in order to rub at his raven hair himself. There was an adoring look in the king's onyx eyes at that moment that Conrart would have been foolish to mistake for anything else, that warmth and fondness strengthening the hope the older man had in him that the two of them could be happy together one day.

"Jeez, Wolfram, I can do it myself," His Majesty complained, but there was a small bit of laughter in his voice, a spark of the cheerfulness he'd recently been without, and he made no moves to stop his pale skinned spouse. The large smile that bloomed across his youthful face when he turned to greet his guardian made it difficult for Conrart to tell him what he knew he must. "Hi, Conrad! What's up?" he greeted, appearing livelier than he had been since Fane's destruction, his short trip to Earth having obviously provided a great lift to his previously dashed spirits.

Conrart didn't have the heart to dash them again.

"Welcome back, Your Majesty," he said in return, showing the younger boy the warmest smile he could muster, hoping he wouldn't notice that his trusted guardian had other things on his mind right now that dampened his mood.

"'Yuuri,'" the nineteen year old correct him out of habit, shooting him a reprimanding look that quickly smoothed out, used to the constant correction he was forced to make when it came to how the captain referred to him. "You guys didn't really have to wait for me, you know. It's not like I was gone for very long."

When neither of the two brothers said anything to explain their presence, Yuuri speared them both with a suspicious look, taking the towel from Wolfram when the boy's hands went lax and letting it fall over his shoulders. "Has something happened?" he wondered, all signs of happiness melting away once again.

"Nothing that we have to discuss here," Wolfram was quick to reply, green eyes gazing at his half-human brother imploringly, silently beseeching him to refrain from mentioning anything about Merton. "You should come back to our room and change before you get sick," he added, returning his undivided attention to the king.

"I've never gotten sick from teleporting before," Yuuri made sure to remind him, and it was the truth. Over all four years of his reign, the black haired boy had never once fallen ill; a couple of minor colds didn't count, and neither of them, Conrart was sure, had been caused from transporting between worlds. Wolfram was merely making excuses in an attempt to divert the king's attention. "What's happened?" he asked, his suspicions immediately raising, dark eyebrows lowering in seriousness.

"I'll tell you in a little while," Wolfram replied. "Change first."

Yuuri appeared ready to argue, and probably would have if the blond boy hadn't been so insistent, releasing a sigh and allowing Wolfram to lead him out of the bath. Conrart could only give him another small smile as the two boys passed him by, and the taller man followed them as far as the hallway, before stopping to watch as they crossed into the bedchamber the maids had only vacated mere moments ago.

He knew that His Majesty would eventually have to be told, just as he knew it would most likely be sooner than he would like, as the black haired young man would continue to prod until the truth was revealed. For now, however, Conrart would leave things as they were, and allow the king and his brother some time alone together - without any heartache - before things fell apart once more.

**TBC…**


	11. Embrasser

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

By Mikage

**Chapter Eleven - Embrasser - To Embrace  
**

Yuuri leaned with his forehead pressed against the cool glass of one of the tall windows in his bedchamber, black eyes peering into the darkness of the outside world, as if this simple activity to unveil to him all the answers to life's many questions. He'd just returned from Earth only a couple of days ago, only to be told upon his arrival that another one of their villages had been completely destroyed, hundreds more lives ended. With everything else that had been going on recently, he hadn't been very surprised, although the internal pain he'd felt when he'd been informed about the attack on Fane had risen again.

Outside the world seemed to be at peace, although he knew that in other places in their country, there were others who were suffering. The stars were twinkling in the deep black sky and the moon was bright and full, it's white beams shining down on him as he stood there, his black jacket somewhere on the other side of the room. His white undershirt was half unbuttoned, though left tucked into his pants. He'd been in the process of getting undressed before moving to stand there, the task now almost completely forgotten as he let his mind wander.

He'd taken to looking out over the castle grounds a lot in the last few days, whether it was morning or night, pondering what course of action they should take next, asking questions of himself that he could not answer, mourning for those who'd died, lives he could have saved if only he hadn't been so stubborn, so foolish. If he'd only done more, tried harder, both Fane and Merton wouldn't be piles of wreckage in the middle of no where right now, but the lively, bustling villages they had once been. If he hadn't been so… so uncompromising, that little boy who'd been brought to the castle wouldn't have suffered, wouldn't have been so scarred.

He didn't want a war, no matter what anyone said, and though he still believed in diplomacy, in peace, he couldn't help but wonder if the others were right, if waiting for another solution would take too long, lead to even more destruction. Even if they didn't fight, they could still do more in offering protection to their people, right? Or would all of their efforts be made in vain now that it had gotten this far, now that things had become so bleak? Was it possible that they must go to war in order to bring peace? Could a war really end with their country better off than it was now?

He didn't think so.

'_A war to end all wars,'_ Yuuri thought, but shook his head almost immediately. It was a nice idea, he supposed, that wars could end with peace, the statement itself used to justify the decision to go to battle, to make it seem more worthwhile than it really was, but he knew that such a thing couldn't possibly be true. That's what the first World War on Earth was supposed to have been, but those sentiments had not lasted long. World War II had followed, then the Korean War, the Cold War, the war in Vietnam, the Gulf War, and all the problems that constantly plagued his home world. There was no end to the violence and hatred. It was like a continuous loop that went on throughout time, with no way of ever stopping. He refused to start that cycle here.

The nineteen year old hardly heard the door creak open as such thoughts and convictions were playing themselves out in his head, though he was aware of Wolfram entering the room, could see his reflection in the glass of the window. He must have just come from the bath, his blond hair limp, a damp tangle about his face. His nightgown hung from his narrow shoulders the way it always did, and Yuuri was glad that the image in the window was a faint one, so that he was prevented from seeing clearly what he knew was there.

Bruises had marred the pale skin that was exposed, and even now they were still visible, faint but there nonetheless. It hurt to look at them, to know that he'd been the one to put them there, to think of how much his control had slipped, his erratically shifting emotions bringing harm to his friend. He didn't know how to explain what was happening to him, or how he'd reacted to some of Wolfram's statements that night of the massacre in Fane, but he was afraid. He didn't like the person he'd turned into over the last few weeks, though he didn't know what had brought the change about or how to stop it from continuing.

He felt like he was losing who he was, who he used to be, the carefree boy who'd once jumped every hurdle and crossed all obstacles with confidence and lighthearted cheer. The anger that had been so easily pushed away or ignored in childhood was now a dark cloud over his head, something he dreaded and felt ashamed of, growing inside of him until he could physically feel the pressure, like a volcano waiting to erupt. Before, whenever the Great Demon King had been released in times of danger, the sensation had come and gone quickly, usually within a matter of minutes. Now it was with him practically all the time, steadily growing stronger, waiting for the right moment to release itself.

He hated violence of any kind, hated it even more when he used it himself - though if it meant saving someone else's life, he'd do anything he could. It made him sick and deathly afraid to think of what he was capable of, the spectacles brought about by his alternate personality, the powers he possessed as the king of the demon tribe. He didn't like that power, didn't want it if that's what was making him feel like this. What was the point of possessing something that would only hurt others?

"Yuuri?" he heard Wolfram call his name questioningly, walking up behind him with a frown on his pretty face, waiting for the dark haired man to acknowledge his presence before speaking again. "Come away from the window," he requested, as he had many times since the king had started this routine.

"Why?" Yuuri asked absently, refusing to remove his forehead from the cool surface it was pressed against.

"It's getting late," Wolfram told him. "You should go to bed and try to get some sleep."

The king let out a light sigh, but still did not move an inch. "I'm not tired," he said in return, though it was only half true. Ever since he'd been told about what happened in Fane, he'd been unable to sleep, waking up after only a few hours from nightmares of fire and death. Truthfully he was exhausted, but he ignored his fatigue as best he could. He'd rather live the rest of his life with hardly any sleep than have anymore of those frightening dreams.

"Even so," the blond replied, "you can't stand here all night."

"Can't I?"

Wolfram frowned at his clipped answer and empty tone, moving closer so that he could wrap his arms around Yuuri from behind, resting against is back as he'd done once before, trying his hardest to give comfort, to lessen the pain that was hurting him inside. He wasn't used to this, to comforting people. Hugging was almost completely alien to him. There were few people he'd embraced besides his mother, and although he felt as if he were trying his best now, Yuuri's lack of a reaction wasn't much of a reassurance.

"Stop punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault," he breathed, taking in Yuuri's scent as he slowly inhaled, thankful that he was able to be close like this, but wishing it were under better circumstances. Why couldn't he and Yuuri be like this on normal terms, without being incited by a heated argument or the effects of a national disaster?

"It _was_ my fault," the raven haired male said, closing his eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

"It wasn't," Wolf returned forcefully, hating the hint of self-loathing he could hear in the younger man's voice.

"Murata's mad at me," the King continued sadly, one of his hands raising up to clutch onto one of the paler ones against his chest, unconsciously seeking the comfort and understanding only Wolfram was able to provide him with.

"He'll get over it," was the quiet reassurance. "The Sage just needs to take some time to cool off. He's been spending too many hours in Gwendal's company.

Yuuri frowned at the mention of his dark haired Chief of State, easily remembering the look of rage that had been directed at him a week ago, the last time the two of them had spoken to one another or been in the same room with each other for more than a few seconds. "Gwendal must be so angry right now," he said, shaking his head dejectedly. "After what I said and how I acted… I can't even face him," he told the slighter boy. "I feel like I've taken all the years that he's been loyal and looked out for me and thrown it right back into his face."

He paused, feeling a familiar disappointment squeeze his heart. "Why did I say that to him?" he wondered, more to himself than to the young man at his back. The words he'd spoken to the blond's eldest brother had sounded smart at the time he'd thought of them, but once they'd tumbled from his lips he'd realized just how insulting they'd truly been, especially in the manner in which he'd said them.

"You were angry and upset," the full blooded demon responded, tightening his hold a bit more.

"That's not much of an excuse, is it?" Yuuri asked before releasing a heavy breath. "I've never felt so out of control," he voiced some of his earlier thoughts out loud. "It's like I can't stop myself. I say things that I don't mean to say, and do things that I…" He envisioned himself gripping onto his friend's shoulders, leaving the bruises that left splotches of color on near white flesh. "…that I wouldn't ever do otherwise."

"You're stressed," Wolfram reminded him, the same thing he'd said on other occasions, as if explaining the king's shift in behavior was as simple as that. "You have to calm down, Yuuri." He thought it ironic that he was telling Yuuri such a thing, when usually it was he who had trouble controlling his temper. It was amazing how much they'd changed over the years.

"Do you really think they're right? Should we go to war with Cimaron? Is trying to talk to Belar or any of the others really such a waste of our time?"

Slowly Wolfram removed his arms from around the taller man, sliding his hands from within Yuuri's own to press against the tense muscle of the king's back, rubbing comfortingly. "I don't know what to think," he said in answer, finding that that was really the most truthful one he could give. Years ago he wouldn't have hesitated about going to battle or starting a war with the humans. Now, however, things were different, and he'd learned to rethink he old ways. "What's important is what _you _think."

"You know what I think," Yuuri replied with another sigh, moving to turn around and face his friend, feeling as Wolfram's palms lightly pressed against his chest. The double black didn't bother to push them away or ask that the demon prince remove them. He found that he didn't much care what Wolfram did as long as he didn't leave. "But what if Murata's right?" he asked. "What if I'm wrong this time? What if I'm just creating more problems by trying to talk to him and not doing anything else?"

"You shouldn't live you life based on 'what ifs,'" his counterpart said. "What matters is 'what is.' You're the king, and as your subjects they'll follow your orders, whether they agree with them or not. They've already overstepped their bounds more that once by questioning your will. Even the Sage, with all of his power and authority, crossed the line the other night."

"He had every right to express his opinion. So did Gwendal. I shouldn't be angry about that."

Even after their argument, and even though they hadn't spoken a word to one another since, Yuuri still felt the need to defend his human friend. They'd never had such a huge misunderstanding before, and even though he'd been mad at Murata at the time and upset over the fact that the other earthen man was turning against him at a time when the king needed his support the most, he could understand where Ken was coming from, at least somewhat. He and the others were worried - and rightly so - that Belar would continue to ignore their demands, and that the state of the Great Demon Kingdom would grow worse as the days and weeks went on.

He just wished Murata and the others would trust him more, and realize that he only wanted what would be in the best interest of the people. Certainly that wasn't war. How could it be?

"It's one thing to express an opinion that differs from your own," Wolfram calmly told him. "It's completely different when they're shouting insults at you."

Yuuri was actually amused by that statement, enough so that he smiled down at the blond teasingly. "This from the person who's called me a 'wimp' and a 'cheater' on a daily basis. Not to mention all the other names and curses you've screamed into my face."

The blond flushed, red rising to color his fair cheeks, and he averted his eyes to the floor, either embarrassed or angry that Yuuri had pointed that out to him and turned his words back on him. "That's different," he claimed, though he didn't sound very convincing. "I have certain rights as your fian-" he stopped suddenly, realizing what he'd just been about to say, correcting himself quietly, "… as your husband."

Yuuri either didn't notice the slip or was nice enough to refrain from calling him on it. "Really?" he inquired instead.

Wolfram's frown deepened, his green eyes narrowing as he glanced back up at the half-human, shaking his head as he finally admitted, "No. It's improper for someone of a lower rank to insult the king. Some would even consider it treasonous."

"You're a prince now," Yuuri reminded him of his recently elevated status.

"You still out rank me."

The King paused to consider this for a moment, thinking on all the times Wolfram had gotten into his face to shout at or reprimand him, and though it had always been more of an annoyance than anything, he knew it would have been odd had Wolfram refrained from doing such things. The attitude and mood swings were all a part of the other boy's character; he wouldn't be Wolfram without the petulance and the jealousy, the demands and forwardness. It was actually strangely cute, Yuuri decided, like a spoiled little brother and an overprotective older one rolled up into a single person.

"I don't really mind so much," he admitted, flashing the other boy another small smile. "I'd get a little annoyed if all of you said, 'Yes, Your Majesty. Whatever you say, Your Majesty' about everything I do. I want you to speak up when something bothers you or if you don't agree with me. Otherwise, how am I supposed to know when I'm-" he cut himself off, his smile fading as the next word struck something within him, the memories of last week's argument returning. "… wrong…"

'_How can I say something like that when I didn't even listen to what Murata and Gwendal were saying?'_ he wondered to himself.

Wolfram stared up at him, noting the saddened look that had quickly replaced his teasing one. "You're a very unusual king," he said, remembering all the times when Yuuri had taken the blame and responsibility onto his own shoulders, even if it wasn't truly his to bear, carrying the burden on his own. He wondered over it, sliding is hands up the king's chest until they came to rest upon those shoulders, tense beneath his touch, weighed down by too much. He couldn't readily think of another person who accepted so many hardships the way Yuuri did, except for Conrart, and perhaps Gwendal, the former more so than the later.

'_I've fallen in love with a man who acts like my brothers,'_ he thought to himself, wishing - not for the first time - that there was more he could do to help the king, to relieve him of the oppressing weight accompanying his responsibilities. He didn't want Yuuri to end up like his older siblings, cold and bitter inside like Conrart - though successfully able to hide behind an empty, fake smile - and harsh and aloof like Gwendal, angry at the world and all the people in it. Yuuri was too pure, too innocent to become like them, forced to grow old too quickly.

"Unusual compared to who?" Yuuri asked, his lips forming a smile again, not seeming to notice the serious path Wolfram's thoughts had suddenly taken. "I haven't met many people in this world who aren't more than a little odd."

"Compared to my mother, you're not much different," the prince replied, glad to see Yuuri's mood lighten, even if it only lasted for a little while. "She could never punish or hurt anyone, but she had Stoffel to handle those sorts of things for her, just as I suppose you have Gwendal now," he said with a tiny smile of his own. "But compared to all the other kings and queens I learned about when I was younger, you're a complete pushover."

Yuuri released a short, amused chuckle. "Would you rather I be more like King Slaughter?" he wondered, thinking of the most menacing of all the previous demon king's he'd learned about under Gunter's tutelage. King Slaughter had truly lived up to his name, savagely murdering many of his own people, most of whom he considered weak or inferior, wanting only those who's powers were great to reside in the lands of the monarchy. He'd gone through four wives and two husbands, most of whom he'd had beheaded when his desire for them waned.

"Of course not," Wolfram answered, echoing the dark haired man's light laugh. He couldn't imagine Yuuri doing anything even remotely cruel to his people, much less physically harming him in any way. "But it wouldn't hurt for you to be a bit more forceful. If people like Belal see a weakness in you, they won't hesitate to exploit it."

"How should I act then?"

Wolfram looked at him, his bright emerald gaze meeting black, and he could have sworn there was a challenging glint in those dark eyes, even if only for a second. "Hold your head up," he told him, lifting a hand to tap his chin, watching as he did as he'd been told. "Stand straight, keep your shoulders back. Don't slouch."

Obediently Yuuri followed his instructions, standing taller than he had a few short moments ago, when he'd been slumped in defeat, plagued by his unending troubles. He looked handsome, the slighter young man admitted to himself, dark hair falling around his face and brushing against his shoulders, bangs hanging into eyes that were darker than night, skin tan and smooth to the touch. Double Black as he was, his exotic looks gave him a naturally regal air, even when he didn't act at all as a king should. Yuuri possessed a certain charm, a charisma that attracted people to him. It was almost effortless.

"Stop smiling like a fool," the blond continued, hoping his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. It was no wonder he was attracted to the half-human man. Standing there in his dark pants and half unbuttoned white shirt, with his black hair and eyes catching the light of the stars, the moon, and the candles that had been lit in their room, he was one of the most physically appealing men Wolfram had met in his entire life. He was tempted to touch him again, to place his hands against the portion of his chest exposed by the partially opened shirt, but stubbornly held back, knowing how Yuuri would react to being pushed too quickly.

Even so, he couldn't control the impulse completely. "Fix your shirt," he demanded, but did it himself, smoothing out the wrinkles and adjusting the collar, able to feel Yuuri's body heat through the thin material. "I don't think you should leave your hair like that," he added after another thought, lighting fingering a black lock.

"You're the one who wanted me to grow it out a little," he reminded him with a confused, slightly annoyed frown. "I thought you said it made me look more regal."

"It does, but you could at least take the time to do more than just brush it."

"Like what? Curl it?" Yuuri asked, a look of distaste crossing his handsome visage.

Wolfram snorted at the mental picture, then rolled his eyes the way he always did when the other boy was being stupid. "Of course not. You'd look ridiculous."

"Well, what else would I do with it?"

Wolfram released a sigh, as if he were becoming exasperated, when really he was enjoying this time alone with Yuuri. It seemed as if he'd successfully managed to take the taller man's mind off of the problems concerning the kingdom and their human enemies, at least for the moment. Now that they'd started this little etiquette lesson, Yuuri seemed willing the play along, and Wolfram would sooner die that do anything that would cause the king to revert back to the solemn, heartbroken young man he'd been while staring out the window. At least now his mind was focused on something else, and Wolfram was being given one of those rare opportunities to be close to him.

"Stay right here," he said, moving to the vanity, to begin digging around in one of the drawers, pulling out a thin piece of white ribbon. "You could use this."

"I'm not even going to ask why you have a hair ribbon in here."

"Greta left it, you moron," the prince replied as he moved back to where he'd left him standing, rolling his eyes once again. He stood behind long enough to pull his hair back, tying the ribbon to it to form a little ponytail at the nape of his neck. "There," he said once he'd finished, stepping back around to get a better look at him. "Now you look at least a little better. You don't seem like such a slob."

"Jee, thanks, Wolf," Yuuri said sarcastically, moving to peer into the mirror, a bit surprised when he caught sight of his reflection. His bangs and a few shorter pieces of hair still fell into and around his face, but having the rest of it held back gave him a look that was a little more sharp and sophisticated than usual, more like how he'd imagined royalty would appear. "You're right, though," he admitted, turning back to his friend with a winning smile.

Wolfram simply snorted and said, "Of course I am," while lifting his nose into the air arrogantly.

"Alright," Yuuri began again, indulging him for the moment. "What else do I need to work on?"

"Walking."

The Earthen man looked confused, raising one dark eyebrow curiously. "Walking? Why?"

"You stumble around like a fool," Wolfram answered his inquiries, then gave him a push in the shoulder as a sign for him to start ambling around the room. "You should be more graceful. Keep your head up and shoulders back. Look confident."

The darker man did what was requested of him, circling the room with sure, precise steps, concentrating on getting it right. He'd never put much thought into how he walked before, and now that he was putting so much focus into it he realized how hard it was to do it correctly. He felt more likely to trip himself up now that he was conscious of the way his feet were moving, and he had to force himself to keep from glancing down, keeping his head up like Wolfram has said, staring ahead of him with his back and shoulders as straight as he could possibly make them, appearing as confident as he could.

"If you want to greet someone, nod at them," Wolfram went on with his lecture, keeping his eyes on the other man the entire time, drinking in his every move. "Don't shout out 'hi,' 'what's up,' or 'how's it going.'"

"Why do I get the impression that you're going to nag at me about the way I talk?" Yuuri wondered out loud.

"Maybe because I am," the fair haired demon prince said, putting a hand to Yuuri's chest to stop him from walking more. "You speak like a commoner, even to your guests. It wouldn't kill you to be a bit more polite."

"I _am_ polite," Yuuri claimed. "I'm just not used to all these formalities. I don't want to seem so stiff and unapproachable like Gwendal of Hube. I want people to know that they can talk to me without me looking down my nose at them."

"Gwendal and Lord Griesela were born and raised during a time when formalities were expected."

"And you weren't?"

"Not really," Wolfram answered him with a quick shake of his head. "By then my mother was Queen, and she'd begun to set a new example for our people."

"If she did, then why can't I?" he asked.

"Because Mother knew when it was appropriate to be informal and when it wasn't," the blond replied easily. "Certain people get very insulted when they're spoken to like that. You have to know who to be polite to and who you can be a little more friendly with. You're friendly with everyone," Wolf pointed out, "and if you keep that up some people might begin to question your intentions."

"I don't want to be cruel to anyone."

"You don't have to be," Wolfram shook his head again. "The only difference between being formal and informal is how you say things. If you're talking to Conrart or me, it's alright to say 'hell no' or 'no way,' but if you're speaking to any other high standing nobleman, what would you say to refuse them?"

Yuuri grinned cheekily. "I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request."

Wolfram raised an eyebrow, but otherwise appeared unimpressed.

"I got that from a movie," the king explained.

"Be serious," his friend demanded, shooting him an annoyed look.

"I am."

"Then stop joking around."

"I'm not," Yuuri said, seeming confused again. "I used big words and said 'no' formally."

"That sounded insulting and contemptuous," the other boy told him with a huff. "You should have said 'no, thank you,' or 'I appreciate the gesture, but I really can't accept."

Yuuri released a heavy sigh, his shoulder slumping as he did so. "I don't like being formal if it's so damned confusing. How am I supposed to know what sounds good and what doesn't?"

"Don't slouch!" Wolfram snapped, pleased when the young man instantly straightened up. "Next you need to work on your dancing."

"Oh, come on!" the darker male let out a loud and quite undignified groan. "I've gotten better."

"Hardly," the prince snorted derisively.

Yuuri was beginning to become annoyed at this point, but relented without too much fuss. "Teach me to dance, then."

Neither of them moved for a long moment, Yuuri waiting for Wolfram to give him instructions and Wolfram deciding how he wanted to go about doing this. He didn't want to get too close, didn't want to make the other man feel cornered and threatened, but he had to admit that he liked the thought of dancing with Yuuri, especially if he was coming into it willingly. When they'd danced together on the night of their wedding, he'd been happy for the excuse to stand close, to hold his hand, to feel Yuuri's arm around him. The only thing that had ruined the experience had been the hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into them, making them both nervous and unable to enjoy it as they should have.

Now he was being given another chance, but Wolfram didn't want to push things too far. Yuuri was being amazingly responsive - he'd thought the other young man would want to quit this by now, had expected him to balk at the idea of dancing and refuse to go any further. To have him willing and unafraid of being so close was almost a dream come true. It gave Wolfram the hope that things could work out, that if they took it slow, started off easily, maybe the delicate thing that was their relationship would start to take off, perhaps grow one day.

But those thoughts didn't last long at all, and Wolfram squashed them before they could further evolve, shoving that hope away and reminding himself that he'd already been through this more than once before. He was being foolish, wanting things that could never be, hoping for what he could never have. This dance, it wouldn't mean anything to Yuuri, just as it had meant nothing to him the last time. Yuuri was only doing this to humor him, of that he was almost certain; either that or he thought of this as nothing more than one of his many lessons - which, in truth, it had started out as. If he'd thought it was anything else, Yuuri would have instantly refused.

"Fine," he eventually said, forcing himself into the mindset of an instructor and not of a romantic partner. "Hold my right hand with your left," he told him, lifting his arm so that it was at a right angle and slipping his palm into Yuuri's slightly larger one. "Now, I'll put my left hand on your shoulder, and you put your right arm around me, with your hand on my back."

A look of concentration crossed the king's face then, as if he really wanted to do this right, and he did as Wolfram said, placing his free hand against the blond's upper back, just below his shoulder blades. "My lower back, you wimp," Wolf was quick to correct him, "with your arm around my waist."

Yuuri blushed lightly in embarrassment. "Sorry," he apologized, and Wolfram was almost ready for him to pull away and suggest that they forget all about this. Surprisingly, Yuuri remained where he was and corrected his mistake instead, sliding his hand down until it rested gently against the small of his back. Wolfram found himself blushing as well when he thought that the movement of Yuuri's palm down his spine had felt like a caress, and was unable to look the king in the eye when he asked, "Like this?"

"Right," Wolf answered, wondering if this were really such a good idea. Any minute now he was going to be pushed away again - he just knew it - and then he'd be left disappointed, just like he always was. "Now lead me."

"Why do I have to lead?" the half-human wondered, sounding as if he didn't very much like the idea.

"You're the king," Wolfram reminded him. "If you allow someone else to lead you it would make you appear weak and incapable."

"I don't care. It's not like there's anyone else in here."

"Just do it. I already know how to dance. You're the one who needs practice."

"But there isn't any music."

"Do you always have to be so difficult?" Wolfram nearly growled, agitated.

Yuuri was about to tell the slighter boy that he was ten-times more difficult even on his good days, but was prevented from doing so when Wolfram began humming a familiar tune. Yuuri took a few moments to collect himself, then began to lead Wolfram across the floor of the bedroom. He began somewhat slowly, peering downwards so that he would not step on the blond's bare feet, but once a few moments had gone by without any mistakes being made, he began to gain more confidence, speeding up to match the pace of the song, which wasn't fast at all, but not nearly as slow as he'd originally been taking it.

It was at this point that Wolfram's humming morphed into soft singing, and the words that reached Yuuri's ears brought to mind memories of the earlier portion of their wedding night, and the awkward dance they'd shared within the crowded ballroom. He hadn't really listened to the words then, too distracted and lost in thought to care much for what the minstrel had been singing about, but now that he and the prince were alone and he no longer had to worry about the impression he was making in front of more than a hundred other people, he was able to relax and better appreciate the lyrics that Wolfram sang - he would admit - quite beautifully.

After a while, when nothing disastrous had happened to cause either man to stop, Yuuri slowly lifted his dark eyes, trailing them over the body in front of him, watching the fluid movements it made, in awe of the almost effortless grace that was shown. The pink fabric of Wolfram's nightdress swayed about his legs as they moved, and if he stared at the bottom half long enough - and took in the way the gown flowed loosely - he could almost imagine that he was dancing with a woman. It was only when his eyes trialed up to the flat chest that he was reminded, and the fantasy died a quick death, leaving him with his arms full of a too pretty male.

Somehow that didn't seem so bad, and the warmth he always felt when they embraced swept through him again, until he felt strangely detached. He and Wolfram weren't really touching; they held hands, there was a light pressure against his shoulder, and his arm was around Wolfram's waist, but they weren't nearly as close together as they had been a few times before. And yet he could still feel the heat from his slender frame, could almost feel what it was like to have Wolfram locked against his side. All it would take was a pull of the arm he had around him and the blond would be pressed to him, safe and close, warm and comforting.

'_I can't do that,'_ he thought to himself, black eyes landing on the bruises that were almost gone, but still caused a pain in his heart. _'I can't get to close. It wouldn't be right.'_

But what did it really mean to be right, to be normal? Who was he to say what was right and what was wrong? How could anything or anyone possibly be considered normal when they were all so different? How was he supposed to know what he really wanted if he never gave anyone a chance, if he never took the opportunity to find out? How was he supposed to sort out his feelings and come to a conclusion if he didn't take the first steps required to start? How was he supposed to know anything about love if he didn't even accept it when it was given to him?

'_I can't,'_ his mind said again, constantly at odds with his heart. Where his heart wanted to try, to take what was being offered and hold onto it - because he may never experience the joy of being loved again - his mind would rather be safe than sorry, and talked him out of all the mistakes he could have made. _'This is wrong. This isn't what I want,'_ he thought, eyes finally making it up to Wolfram's face.

His friend was looking up at him, his voice still gently lilting, and Yuuri felt a familiar tightening in his chest - the one that made it difficult to breath, the one he'd suffered from when Wolf had walked down the isle during their wedding ceremony. Had Wolfram's eyes always been so green, he wondered as his mouth suddenly went dry, leaving him dazed. Had his hair always been so blond, a golden crown atop his head, perfectly framing his pretty face, even if it had yet to be brushed after his bath. Had his skin always been so white and amazingly flawless, soft and warm to the tough? Had Wolfram always looked so breathtaking?

He supposed Wolf had, since the smaller boy hadn't changed at all since they'd met. Hair that was two or so inches longer than it used to be did nothing to alter his appearance, and so Yuuri could only assume that he'd never noticed just how refined his best friend looked, or he hadn't taken the time required to truly appreciate it. He was stunning; Yuuri would say that he was akin to the princes of fairytales if only they could measure up to him. Even one of the princesses would pale when placed next to him - even Aurora, with all the beauty gifted to her by the good fairies.

Staring at him, Yuuri felt as if he'd been put under some kind of spell, or perhaps he'd been drugged, his senses failing to work properly. He didn't see the room around them or the stars and moon through the window, just gold hair, emerald eyes and porcelain skin. He couldn't smell the scent of the polish the maids used on the wooden furniture, just the light, sweet smell of soap, the fresh scent of water. He didn't hear anyone bustling down the halls or tree branches scraping against the castle, just Wolfram's voice, soft and smooth as he continued to sing. And he didn't feel the floor beneath his feet as they danced, but a pale hand, lightly callused but still soft within his own.

'_Stop,'_ he told himself, his heartbeat picking up when he realized that he couldn't. _'Stop! This is wrong!'_ his mind reminded him again, shouting loudly, trying to be heard over the singing that was coming from the young man in his arms.

Wolfram didn't seem to notice his discomfort or the war currently going on inside of him, green eyes still locked with black, a small, barely there smile lifting a pair of full, pink lips. He seemed to be enjoying himself, perhaps able to think for the time being that things were okay between them. They weren't arguing or worrying about anything outside of the four walls that surrounded them, lost in the quiet moment they'd found, the peace that filled them. It was as if all was right in the world when, in reality, things couldn't have been any worse.

'_Get away!'_ his mind was still trying to convince him, a frown finding it's way onto his face as the inner battle continued. _'You're going to hurt him,'_ he thought, eyes flicking back down to narrow shoulders. _'In the end, you'll only hurt him.'_

'_I don't want to,'_ he told himself. _'I'll never forgive myself. Never.'_

'_Then stop this before it's too late!'_

Almost in response to his inner dialogue, the spell was broken just as quickly as it had fallen over him, and he winced in sympathy when he unintentionally stepped on Wolfram's right foot.

"Ow! Be careful, you moron!" Wolfram snapped loudly, eyes narrowing dangerously as he removed the hand that had been held in the king's own in order to smack the taller man on the back of the head as punishment for his folly. "_That's_ why I told you to practice, you dimwitted fool!"

"Sorry," the black haired boy muttered an apology, watching as the blond hobbled over to the bed to inspect his abused toe. Yuuri followed him after a moment, kneeling down in front of him to get a better look at it. "It looks fine," he observed, glancing up at his friend from his place on the floor. "It's not like it's broken or anything."

"You're such an insensitive jerk!" Wolfram accused, glaring, his lips now pulling themselves into a pouty frown. "It doesn't matter if you broke it or not! It still hurts!"

"Don't be a baby," Yuuri shot him another teasing smile, leaning back with his hands pressed to the floor, supporting his weight.

"Shut up! You're the one who should watch out where you're stepping with your big, stupid feet! I've never seen a king as ungraceful as you!"

Yuuri's grin widened, stretching across his face as he joked, "You know what they say about guys with big feet."

Wolfram's face flushed bright red. Reaching towards the head of the bed, he snatched one of the large pillows, lifting it high to begin flailing Yuuri with it, whatever mood they'd had going for them before now completely ruined. "Don't be so crude!" he shouted, beating Yuuri on the side of the head with the soft, stuffed cushion.

Yuuri easily grabbed it, laughing as he tossed it aside. "How do you know I was being crude?"

"I could tell by the look on your face, you classless dope!" the pale prince answered, standing up in order to stalk across the room, heading back over to the vanity. "Why did I fall in love with such an idiot?" he mumbled to himself, taking a seat in front of the mirror.

The black haired man watched him for a few seconds, his smile disappearing. Slowly he stood to his feet, stopping long enough to retrieve the pillow and return it back to it's rightful place. His shoulders went back to the dejected slump they'd been in before Wolfram had come into the room, his playfulness suddenly gone. "I was only joking," he informed the other man, following his path over to the vanity along the wall, stopping directly behind him, looking into the green eyes reflected in the glass. "Do you really know what I meant?" he asked curiously.

"I have an idea," Wolfram replied, cheeks still slightly pink. "It's some sort of an innuendo, isn't it?"

Yuuri nodded, then smiled sadly, thinking he'd destroyed the peaceful camaraderie they'd had going on between them. "I'm sorry if it offended you or anything."

"Why would I be offended?" the prince wondered, his anger slowly seeping away at the look on the other man's face. "I just wish you'd be serious for more than five minutes. Stop making everything seem like a joke."

"I don't."

Wolfram watched his reflection, his frown deepening as dark eyes lowered to glance at the floor. The distraction was over now and Yuuri was going back into the solemn, self-deprecating mood he'd been in earlier. The fair prince scowled at that, knowing that the other boy was finding fault with himself and his actions again, just like he always did. It seemed as if he'd never stop his one person version of the blame game.

Quickly Wolfram picked up his hair brush, thrusting it back towards Yuuri with an expectant look on his face. "Here," he said, then demanded, "brush my hair."

"Excuse me?" Yuuri wondered, glancing back up and quirking an eyebrow.

"You heard me."

"Can't you get one of the maids to do it for you - or, better yet, do it yourself."

"I want you to do it," Wolfram said, smiling. "Consider it punishment for injuring my toe."

"If I'm a classless dope, you're a spoiled brat," the demon king mumbled under his breath. Still, he took the brush from Wolfram's hand a slowly began sliding it through his still damp hair. "Are you happy now?" he asked, somewhat moodily, shooting the smaller boy an annoyed glare.

"Very," his smile remained. "Just don't pull so hard."

"I don't think a normal king would do something like this."

"You're not doing it as the king. You're doing it as my friend," Wolfram explained.

"Yeah, but usually it's girls who brush each other's hair, not guys."

"Just shut up and stop complaining."

Yuuri groaned but did as he was told, closing his mouth as he continued to pull the brush through golden blond locks, working the knots out, though being careful not to pull too hard. He was actually tempted to yank on some of it just out of spite, but decided he'd rather not have Wolfram shouting at him again. He frowned as he went about his task, noticing the way each thin strand glistened in the candlelight, and how a few waves and curls began to form as it slowly dried. After a few quiet moment, his eyes drifted from the mass of hair to pale shoulders, and his strokes slowed unintentionally.

"Stop it," Wolfram said suddenly, forcing dark eyes up to meet his own through the glass.

"Stop what?" the king inquired, pausing momentarily in his brushing, thinking it was a bit odd that his friend would cease his actions so soon after he'd begun.

"Stop thinking that way," he elaborated, "like everything's your fault. It isn't."

"I'm not so sure everyone here agrees with you."

"I suppose I'll have to find some other way to distract you, then."

"Is that what you were doing with that spur of the moment lecture on royal etiquette?" Yuuri asked curiously.

Wolfram smiled lightly, closing his eyes as he leaned back into his chair, the back of his head pressing against Yuuri's front. "I was trying to," he replied softly.

"It worked for a while," the double black told him with a sad smile, sliding the brush through blond hair again, even though he'd already succeeded in getting all of the knots and tangles out. "I don't think I'll ever be able to stop thinking about it entirely, but…" he said, trailing off with a shake of his head, swiftly changing the subject as he absentmindedly continued his current task. "You know what?" he asked instead.

"What?"

"I like this."

A look of confusion crossed Wolfram's face. "Brushing my hair?" he wondered, thinking that was a really stupid thing to enjoy, especially since he'd previously complained about doing it.

"No," Yuuri replied with a short laugh. "Talking like this," he said. "Usually after we argue we don't talk to one another for a while, or you fall asleep, or we get interrupted, or I'm distracted by one thing or another. But recently we've been able to have decent conversations, and I realized how nice it is just to be able to do that. I feel like I can talk to you about anything."

"You can, if you want," Wolfram smiled, finding the younger man's declaration strangely sweet. Only Yuuri could say something like that without sounding sappy or dorky, and the sincerity in his voice was enough to make the prince's heart swell.

"What about you?" Yuuri asked him then.

"What about me?"

"This," Yuuri said in return, setting the brush down onto the surface of the vanity, staring into Wolfram's eyes nervously. "Talking like we are. Do you like it?"

The blond shrugged in reply. "I like spending time with you. It doesn't really matter what we're doing."

For some reason, Wolfram's words saddened Yuuri, and he was unable to look him in the eye again, guilt blossoming in his chest. The movement of Wolf's shoulders drew his gaze down again anyway, and he was once more assaulted by waves of shame and resentment. How could Wolfram say that and mean it after all the times that Yuuri himself had ignored it? How could he still be honest about his feelings, all the while knowing that they weren't returned? Didn't it get exhausting and frustrating after a while? Yuuri didn't know how Wolfram could handle it; he couldn't imagine he'd be as accepting if their roles were reversed.

Carefully, almost unconsciously, the half-human man let his hands come up to rest against Wolfram's shoulders, hoping the light pressure he placed upon them offered his friend as least a little comfort. He curled a lock of hair around one of his index fingers for a moment, nervously licking his lips at the period of silence they'd fallen in to. Timidly he ran his hands over the splotches of blue that were revealed by Wolfram's nightgown, awkwardly caressing the soft skin, internally berating himself for being such a jerk. How could Wolfram - proud, strong Wolfram - allow himself to be subjected to this kind of relationship, this one sided affair?

The demon prince must have noticed the guilt ridden look on his face, because he turned to glance up at him over his shoulder. "Yuuri?" he called his name quietly, as if he were afraid of making his sullen mood any worse.

"I'm sorry," the Japanese man responded to his questioning tone, shaking his head, a few strands of raven hair falling into his black eyes.

"For what?" Wolfram wondered. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"I haven't been very good to you," Yuuri pointed out, hands stroking over soft skin again, careful not to press too hard. "I mean, after everything you've done for me, I… I've never done anything to repay you."

"You don't have to," his friend reassured him.

"But I feel so guilty," the older looking man admitted, closing his eyes in shame. "Especially after I…"

"You didn't hurt me, if that's what you're thinking," Wolfram told him once his speech had trailed off. "I just bruise easy is all," he said in explanation, "and since I'm pale, it shows more."

Yuuri frowned at that, unable to tell whether the blond was lying or telling the truth. Somehow he didn't think Wolf had been completely honest in his statements, but he was sure the slighter male would continue to deny it if he questioned him any further. "Ever since I've learned to control my magic," he said instead, "I've felt like I've lost control over something else, and it scares the shit out of me."

"Have you talked to Gunter about it?"

"No," he shook his head once more. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Try," Wolfram prodded, showing an unusual amount of patience.

The nineteen year old paused to think for a moment. He knew what he wanted to say, he just didn't think it made much sense, at least not in his mind, where his thoughts were nothing more than a jumbled mess. The change that had come about him over the last couple of years - especially recently - wasn't something he was exceptionally proud of. Outside, his physical appearance had indeed improved, but on the inside… inside he'd become unstable, and he dreaded to think that it would only get worse. It was already bad enough; he didn't need to add anything on to it.

"When I used to get angry," he finally began, "_really_ angry, I'd transform into that… that thing, but it was always for a good reason - to save or protect someone - and I'd feel better after, like some kind of tension had been released from inside of me. Now I don't need him anymore since I've learned to use my magic on my own, but when I get mad, even if it's over something stupid…" he paused again, trying to come up with the right words. "It's like there's something… I don't know, but… I end up… doing or saying things that… that I don't mean. And it just keeps getting worse every time. I feel like I'll eventually end up hurting someone if I don't stop it."

"Is there anything in particular that usually triggers it?" his blond counterpart asked seriously, concerned for his well being and state of mind.

"I don't know," Yuuri repeated with a quick shrug. "It seems like it could be anything as long as I get angry enough."

Wolfram tried his best to smile up at him comfortingly, though hearing Yuuri admit that he actually had a problem - and now knowing that the sudden, uncontrolled burst of anger he'd had a week ago hadn't been a fluke - increased his worry quite a bit. It was something they should probably inform Gunter of, since the lavender haired man was the one responsible for the king's magic training, but the blond didn't think Yuuri could handle talking about it to someone else at the moment. It would be better to worry about it once he'd rested and was a little more clear headed.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again; you're frustrated with everything that's going on right now. Stop putting so much of the blame on yourself and maybe you won't get angry over every little thing," he golden haired boy suggested, even if he truthfully didn't think the answer was as simple as that. "You're tired and stressed out. If you keep going on that way, you're just going to make things worse for yourself."

"I didn't used to be this way," Yuuri pointed out.

"Using and controlling magic puts a lot of stress on the body, mind and spirit, and since your powers are so great I'm sure it's at least twice as worse."

"But I-"

"Yuuri," Wolfram cut him off, turning as much as he could in the chair in order to look at him, placing a slender index finger against his lips to prevent him from speaking any more. "Don't worry about it."

The dark haired king sighed deeply, taking hold of his friend's hand to pull it away, his eyes catching sight of the band circling his ring finger, and the three diamonds sparkling in the room's dim lighting. A part of him thought it was a little strange for the other boy to wear a ring, especially when the circumstances of their wedding had been anything but traditional. It was weird to see it adorning his finger, as if it were some sort of reminder, a symbol of what they were to each other now. Even so, he couldn't find it within himself to ask him to take it off, or suggest that he wear it on a necklace instead.

"You haven't taken it off," he observed anyway, lightly touching the piece of jewelry that was originally supposed to have been saved until he or his older brother proposed.

"Am I supposed to?" Wolfram wondered, not understanding the true significance of the ring the way Yuuri did.

"No," he shook his head in reply. "It's an engagement ring. Usually people rarely take them off. It's supposed to symbolize…" He took a short moment to think of the correct word to use, not wanting to say 'love' or 'commitment' when those two things had had very little to do with their marriage. "A… a promise," he finally decided. "It's usually the girl who wears it, though," he added as an afterthought.

"I think it's perfectly fine for me to wear a ring that your mother gave me when you wear a necklace given to you by Conrart, a necklace that - I'll remind you - used to belong to a woman."

'_Used to belong to me in a past life,'_ Yuuri almost said, but refrained, not thinking it was very appropriate to bring up such a thing. Often he had wondered if the reason everyone in this world seemed to care for him so much was because of who's soul belonged to him, but now he no longer questioned it. She'd been loved by all those who'd become important to him, but he was not Julia. She was a part of him, but they were not the same person. She was his courage, his hope, his perseverance, but nothing more.

"Does it bother you?" Wolfram asked, jarring him from his thoughts before they could go too far.

"What?" Yuuri questioned, snapping back to the present.

"Does it bother you that I wear it?"

"No," he answered quickly, shaking his head. "I mean, it's important to my mother, and it's obviously important to you, too. If you want to wear it, then… I don't have any problem with it." It was better to agree than tell him the truth, the king thought, for although he didn't really mind, it made him feel a bit strange.

Wolfram seemed pleased by his answer, his smile widening just slightly, and Yuuri had to wonder how something so simple could make the blond as happy as he presently appeared. He'd never been very good at bringing a smile to the other boy's face, no matter how hard he'd tried to get a better reaction than harsh insults and jealous ranting. Everything he'd ever said always seemed to be the wrong thing, just as everything he did had Wolfram cursing and shouting. The only person he knew who could make Wolfram smile on a daily basis was Greta, but then there weren't many people who could remain sullen in her presence.

He found it odd that only now, after everything that had gone on between them in recent weeks, he was beginning to discover ways in which to make Wolfram happy, and he was surprised to find out how simple it really was. He knew he couldn't give Wolfram what he wanted most in the world, or say the words he was dying to hear, but he could do the little things - hold his hand, lay close to him late at night, alone in their room where no one else could interfere, and offer him a comforting hug when he was upset. Perhaps this is what he should have done from the beginning, acknowledge the other man instead of trying to ignore him.

Looking back and placing himself in his friend's position, he couldn't see how in the world Wolfram had managed to hang on this whole time, how he could still love him after Yuuri had put him through so much heartache and pain. He'd never given Wolf any indication that he was interested, never treated him as more than just a friend, never reciprocated any of his deeper feelings, and yet Wolfram was still here, still with him, and it didn't seem as if he'd ever leave. Yuuri found it hard to understand how anyone with so much pride could possibly subject himself to that sort of loneliness.

And he knew Wolfram was lonely; it was easy to see when he looked deep enough, when he stared into those green eyes of his and carefully picked through the swirl of emotions. Of course it was well hidden, like most of the other feelings Wolfram refused to show just anyone. Only a select few were given that privilege, Yuuri knew - those who didn't pose a threat, those he could trust. Only people Wolfram deemed fit were given a glimpse of what was truly in his heart, and the king wondered why he - out of everyone else in the world - had been granted access.

What had he ever done to deserve it?

"Why do you love me?" he suddenly asked, voicing the thoughts and questions that rushed trough his mind.

Wolfram's eyes widened as he continued looking up at the half-human, his lips parting slightly as a look of astonishment momentarily crossed his face. He stood to his feet very slowly, standing in front of his dark haired king, tilting his head to the side in confusion, as if he wasn't quite sure he'd heard him right. "What did you say?" he quietly wondered, his voice almost a whisper.

"Why do you love me?" Yuuri repeated, more firmly this time, so that there was no way the blond could mistake his words, internally telling himself that he really _did_ want to know the answer.

"Why are you asking me something like that?"

"Well, I…" he tried to explain. "I just want to know," he eventually said. "In the beginning, when I first proposed to you, you said you wouldn't break it off because of honor and pride; it would look bad in the eyes of everyone else. Then when I offered to break it, you said it would be an insult. It was like the only thing you cared about was your reputation," he observed, remembering their first real discussion concerning their engagement, during their travels to retrieve the demon sword. "What… what changed?"

Wolfram didn't answer right away. He averted his eyes, staring hard at the floor as his brows furrowed, his lips forming a straight line as he thought over the inquiry. The silence that overtook them was tense and uncomfortable, and the fair demon ended up pacing, leaving the vanity to walk back and forth across the ground. Yuuri watched his reaction carefully, wondering if it was really so hard for him to answer, or if he was debating with himself on whether he should or not. Wolf's mouth opened a few times as if to speak, but no words ever came out, leaving Yuuri waiting in anticipation, thinking maybe he shouldn't have asked after all.

Finally Wolfram released a heavy sigh, ceasing his movements to climb up onto the wide mattress in the middle of the room, his eyes still downcast. Almost tiredly he leaned against the bed post, facing the king though refusing to meet his gaze, one of his thin hands nervously fidgeting with a sash that kept the bed curtains open. He looked vulnerable, sitting there as he attempted to find the correct words, perhaps worried about what Yuuri's reaction would be to whatever he said. Yuuri, for his part, remained quiet, allowing Wolf the time to sort everything out.

After a few minutes had passed by like this, his fiend opened his mouth again, only this time he was capable of speech. "I don't really know," he replied, voice calm and level, revealing nothing more of what he was feeling at the moment. "It's not like I wanted to fall in love with you," he added then, as if to hide his sudden discomfort. "There are plenty of more refined and attractive men out there."

"Hey…" Yuuri began, frowning just slightly, not sure if he should feel insulted (or if it was even natural for him to be insulted over that fact that Wolfram may find others more attractive than him).

"You're stupid and uncouth," the blond continued, ignoring the other man, "undignified, naïve, and your manners require some serious improvement. You speak like a commoner, act like an imbecile, and you can't dance to save your life. You haven't the faintest idea how to court someone properly; you can't just propose to the first pretty young boy you see without getting to know him first." He said this with a pointed look in the king's direction, frowning at his original forwardness.

"I didn't know what I was doing!" the black haired boy said in defense of his actions.

"Which only proves how unbelievably clueless you are," Wolfram went on, pointing out every fault he could possibly think of. "You hardly listen to what anyone has to say about anything. You're uneducated, moronic, and crude, but…" he paused, a small, tranquil smile tugging at his lips, eyes lowering again as a slight blush fanned across his cheeks. "You're handsome, brave, and strong. You stand up for what you believe in and don't back down no matter how hopeless things seem. You're caring, and somehow your wimpiness is endearing, and…"

Another pause, this one bringing about a deepening in the color of Wolfram's cheeks, letting Yuuri know that it was taking a lot for his friend to say all of this. "You accept me. You don't expect me to change," the prince said quietly. "I feel… safe… when I'm with you. I feel like I don't have to worry about anything as long as you're here."

Yuuri smiled at that admittance. He found it ironic that Wolfram would feel that way, considering the blond was always the one protecting him. Rarely had it been the other way around. Yuuri may have chased after him when he'd been unexpectedly kidnapped, and he'd been determined to get his heart back and bring his friend back to life, but that could never compare to all Wolf had done for him. Never in a million years could Yuuri hope to even come close. He'd have to do something extremely bold or daring to even match him halfway, something he'd never done for anyone else.

"That sounds so sappy," the demon king observed playfully, his grin widening as he stepped over to stand in front of the slighter man.

"Shut up!" Wolfram snapped, his pale face flaming red. "You're the one who asked! I'm just being honest!"

Yuuri chuckled lightly and shook his head at the prince's embarrassed response. "What did I do to make you feel that way about me?"

"Stop making fun of me or I won't answer that!"

"I'm not making fun of you," the double black raised both hands in defense.

Wolf frowned and eyed him critically, silently warning him to stop his teasing. "I don't know what you did. I didn't want to fall in love with you," he finally said, looking away once more. "Things would be so much easier if I could stop feeling this way."

"Would you want to stop it… if you could?" Yuuri wondered curiously.

Wolfram paused again before answering, finding that it was really a difficult question to form a reply to. How would things be now if he didn't love Yuuri? Would life be easier, or would it have been more difficult? He couldn't readily imagine it. Somehow it didn't seem as if his life would have have as much meaning. He'd spent the last four years serving the young king, acting at his fiancé in any way that Yuuri would allow, and even though is devotion remained un-returned, staying by Yuuri's side left him with a feeling of fulfillment, like his life now had a purpose.

"I don't think so," he said carefully, though he refused to look up at the taller male. He felt too exposed as it was.

"Really?" Yuuri asked him, surprised. "Even though I…"

"It hurts that you don't feel the same," Wolfram agreed, hoping the pain didn't show through on his face or in his voice as he said it, "but I wouldn't want to change how I feel about you. I don't know why, I just… I couldn't." Slowly he shook his head, golden bangs shifting in front of his eyes. "It's a part of me, and I feel like if I stopped I wouldn't be able to live anymore. It's hard to explain. Everything I say doesn't sound like it makes any sense," he said sadly.

"No, it's okay," the black haired man reassured his fairer partner. "I think I understand, at least a little."

"How?" Wolfram asked, not thinking it was anything the king would be able to comprehend.

"It's like baseball."

It only took a second for green eyes to narrow, and Wolfram glared up at him angrily, appearing offended. "Don't compare my feelings for you to baseball," he warned.

"Wait, wait," Yuuri tried to curtail his anger, placing his hands on Wolf's shoulders to keep him in place and prevent him from jumping off of the bed and stomping away again. "I'm serious."

"So am I. How dare you think my feelings are that petty and juvenile."

"It's not like that," the darker male claimed. "You love me, and I'm just…" he trailed off, fighting with himself so as not to start stuttering. "I try to think of something that I love so that I can try and understand your feelings, and I think 'baseball.'"

Wolfram's frown only deepened.

"It's true," Yuuri tried to convince him, though it didn't appear as if it had worked. "I've played it ever since I was a little kid, almost my whole life. Even when I quit playing, I couldn't pull away from it entirely. Like you said, 'It's a part of me.' I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I couldn't play, that's why I'm trying to start a team here. When I was younger I used to dream of going pro, or maybe playing in the United States, even if I wasn't as good as the other kids. In Junior High I spent most of my time as a bench warmer; I think I only started one or two games, and that was only when our other catcher was injured."

Wolfram refrained from saying anything, even when one of Yuuri's hand grabbed onto his own. It was unintentional, he was sure, as the nineteen year old had adopted a look of nostalgia, his eyes not gazing at the one in front of him, but at something far away, a memory perhaps, one that lit up his face and morphed his lips into a contented smile. He still couldn't believe the man had the nerve to make such a comparison, but noting the sparkle in onyx eyes and the expression on his handsome visage, Wolfram could see something there, an emotion he'd become all too familiar with.

"I remember the first time Dad took me to a ball game," Yuuri continued wistfully. "It was amazing! I mean, you go there and you see the ballpark and the players, the grass, and you smell all the different scents and hear the noise from the crowd… you… you just get lost in the moment. Every time I think about love, it seems like that's what it should feel like - exciting, thrilling, and… and just as consuming," he finished, absentmindedly playing with the ring on Wolfram's left hand.

Wolf allowed him to do so, his heart fluttering in his chest. "Only you could compare love to baseball and make the two sound at least a little similar."

"So I'm right?" the king asked, finally looking him in the eye again, snapped back to the present by the blond's mumbled confession. "That's what it feels like?"

"I suppose," the full blooded demon replied. "In a round about way."

"And you feel like that? For me?"

Wolfram nodded timidly, noting the look of awe that had entered Yuuri's eyes. "But it's deeper," he said, searching inside of himself to try and come up with an appropriate elaboration. "It doesn't have anything to do with logic; it just is. I love you, and there isn't anything that could change that. There's nothing that you could say or… or do that could make me stop. If I stopped, I'd stop living."

"I don't deserve that," Yuuri breathed, having never heard Wolfram speak so candidly about his feelings before. It was almost overwhelming to know that the blond boy felt so strongly, and that he had an affect on something so powerful. Again he wondered why. Why him? Why not someone more suited to the prince? What made him so special to Wolf that he'd associate those sort of emotions with him? _'I don't deserve that from you,'_ he thought sadly.

"Maybe not," Wolfram answered his spoken statement, "but it's not about deserving. These sorts of things, they happen for a reason, even if you never know what that reason is," he said, as if he could somehow read the king's mind. "There are some questions in life that don't have any concrete answers."

Yuuri marveled over his sudden show of wisdom, his hand slipping into Wolfram's palm, their fingers intertwining. "When did you become so mature?" he wondered, remaining in his place directly in front of him.

"I don't know," the blond replied with a tiny smirk, "although I think it may have something to do with you?"

"With me?" Yuuri wondered, a bit confused.

"You make me want to be stronger, better."

The double black let this information sink in for a few moments, mulling it over in his head, sorting through his own reactions to the words that had been spoken. It was somewhat frightening to know how Wolfram felt, or at least to have some sort of a clue now. He'd always assumed that his friend's feelings had run deeper than he could possibly imagine. He never would have been able to guess how much of an affect it had had on him, on the way he lived his life, on the way he'd grown. Love had changed him, definitely for the better. Love had really defined him as an individual.

And then Yuuri wondered if he would have cared how the other young man felt and what he thought about him had Wolfram not loved him so. He couldn't say with any sort of certainty that he loved him back - not as much as Wolfram seemed to care - but he would admit, even if only to himself, that Wolfram's love was important to him. He cherished it as much as Conrad's guidance and Gwendal's wisdom, as much as Gunter's protectiveness and Murata's friendship. It scared him, yes, but he couldn't imagine life without it. It was a part of him as much as baseball, as much as it was a part of Wolfram. It was who they were.

A shiver ran down Yuuri's spine at the thought, and his gaze traveled down to their joined hands, looking at how their fingers locked together, how Wolfram's skin was shades lighter than his own, and how the ring gleamed brightly amongst flesh and tangled digits. He could feel something in the air between them then, a warmth that was thicker than usual, heady, pulsing. It was hard to ignore once he noticed it, and he absently wondered if the demon prince could feel it, too, of if it was just him.

"What do you think about me?" Wolfram asked with a smile, staring up at him expectantly, waiting for a reply.

"Think about you?" Yuuri repeated dumbly, swallowing down a lump that had formed in his throat. "What do you mean?"

"When you look at me, what do you see?" the pretty blond explained. "What kinds of thoughts go through your head?"

"Well," the Japanese man tried to start, thinking hard. Describing Wolfram was easy, but he didn't want to say anything that would make their situation more confusing. "You're pushy, bratty, loud and demanding. You don't know when to just shut the hell up," he said, making a list of his faults first, like Wolfram had done to him, earning a pouty frown. "You're obnoxious, annoying, childish, rude, and you throw the dumbest things way out of proportion. Your attitude could use a little adjusting, and you have mood swings like… like a pregnant woman."

Wolfram frowned, obviously insulted, but Yuuri simply smiled at him, amused by the petulant look on his face. "But underneath all that," he continued, "you have a good heart. I've always heard that it's what's in the heart that matters most, and with you I think that's true," he told him, lifting his free hand to place it lightly against Wolfram's chest, feeling the steady beating of the organ in question.

Wolfram, in turn, raised his own hand, bringing it up to clasp onto Yuuri's tightly, holding it in place as his breathing began to pick up. Rare were the times when Yuuri would initiate any sort of intimate contact, even something as simple as this, and Wolfram could only pray that this would last, that he wouldn't pull away soon, and that nothing would happen to ruin this. Having Yuuri touching him so tenderly, no matter how innocent the action was, was almost more than he could bear.

"You're sweet and kind when it counts," the dark haired half-human declared. "You're loyal, dependable, courageous. You don't treat me any differently because I'm the king. You're always there when I need you, and…" He paused, staring at the boy on the bed, taking in the way the burning candlelight played off of his hair, dancing in green eyes, pale cheeks again stained a light rosy hue.

"And?" Wolfram prodded almost breathlessly, waiting for him to finish.

"You're…" Yuuri stuttered, his throat once again going dry, and he swallowed thickly in an attempt to solve his little problem. "You're so beautiful," he eventually managed, wondering why he felt so nervous all of a sudden. It wasn't like he'd never told Wolfram what he thought of him before. He'd said that very thing plenty of times, in various forms of 'you're pretty,' and 'you're way cuter than me.' Why now did it sound so different? Why was it that he could feel the tension grow?

Wolfram didn't exactly look pleased by the whispered compliment. His face fell, as if he'd been told something completely opposite, and the curious sparkle that had been in his eyes went out in an instant. His lips pulled themselves down into another one of his pouty frowns, and he once more averted his gaze, shifting his eyes away to glance around the room, never staring at the same thing for longer than a few seconds. He was silent as he seemed to think of something to say in response, appearing more disappointed than anything else.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri called softly, trying to regain his attention, confused as to why the blond would react in such a way. Normally he would simply brush it off, deem it unimportant and change the subject, or he'd stick his nose in the air with a huff to hide any embarrassment he may happen to feel. A few times he'd blushed when receiving similar compliments, before mumbling something that sounded somewhat like a 'thank you,' although, knowing Wolfram, it could have just as well been 'Of course I am.'

"Wolf?" he tried again when the boy still refused to look at him, releasing the hold he had on his hand to gently place his own against a set of narrow shoulders. Still the prince gave him no response, besides a short, quick shake of his head, a few more strands of blond hair falling to irritate his eyes. Instinctively Yuuri moved to brush them away, the act causing pools of vibrant green to snap back towards him, wide and filled with confusion, golden brows furrowing slightly as a look of pain seeped across his face.

Only then did Wolfram push him away, pale hands coming up to press at his chest, forcing the dark haired king to take a few steps back. He slipped off the bed, intent on brushing passed the younger man, though Yuuri hadn't a clue as to where he planned to go this late into the evening. Not that the nineteen year old had any intention of just letting him up and leave without first explaining what was wrong, and Yuuri grabbed onto his upper arm to pull him back with what was quickly becoming a familiar hold. How many times had be restrained Wolfram like this in the last week alone?

"Wolfram, what's the matter?" he asked, thoroughly baffled. He'd thought they'd been doing good, having a nice conversation, a much needed heart-to-heart. How could a simple compliment - the truth of which was already well known throughout the kingdom - been the wrong thing to say?

"Don't," the blond tried to stop him, though he knew it was useless to try and pull away. "Just don't."

"But I don't understand why you-"

"You can't just say things like that!" Wolfram exclaimed, effectively cutting him off, looking betrayed, though Yuuri couldn't tell if it was because of what he'd said or because he couldn't seem to control his emotions at the moment. The pain laced in his words was proof enough of how upset he was.

"What? Why?"

"Because it's not supposed to mean anything!"

The half-human quirked an eyebrow. "I don't understand," he said slowly, loosening his grip when no attempt was made to get away, though he still did not release him.

Wolfram glared up at him in an accusing manner, eyes shining with a mixture of hurt, anger, resentment, and the tiniest spark of hope. "I've been told that I'm beautiful my whole life," he explained, forcing his voice not to crack. "My mother says it, my brothers say it, everyone in the entire kingdom says it! But it's never meant anything, not until…" he stumbled, inwardly cursing himself for suddenly adopting the king's nervous habit of stuttering. "Not until you said it."

"Wolfram…"

"Why?" his friend asked him, distraught. "Why does it matter so much when you say things like that? Why can't it sound just as dull and empty coming from you as it does coming from everyone else?"

"Because I mean it!" Yuuri replied, pulling him just a fraction closer. "I'm trying to be open and honest with you, so when you asked me what I think about you, I… I said everything that came to mind, and I _meant_ it! But it's not… it's not just how you look that makes you beautiful, it's…" he paused, pulling the slighter boy so that they were standing face to face, again looking into one another's eyes. "It's your passion, your _com_passion, your loyalty, your strength, your courage, it's…" Another pause, in which he tried to find the right words, his heart pounding against his ribcage. "It's everything."

Wolfram drew his lips into a thin line, his hands trembling by his sides, trying so hard not to let his surging emotions get the better of him. "Why?" he asked again, almost brokenly. "Why are you doing this? Why are you telling me these things? Every time you do… I end up feeling so confused."

"You're not the only one," Yuuri told him with a small half smile. "But I'm trying to sort everything out. I'm trying _so hard_ to fix everything."

"And how do you expect to do that?" the blond inquired incredulously. "You know what I want, Yuuri," he said with a faint blush. "You know how I feel about you."

"I know," the Japanese man agreed, nodding. "But I don't know what _I_ want."

"You want a woman," Wolfram told him bitterly, looking off to the side. "You want your perfect little Earthen family, with a wife and children. I can't give you that. I can't give you anything!" he said, swallowing passed the lump that nearly clogged his throat. "I can only love you, but that's not enough. It's never been enough for you!"

Why, he wondered again, why was Yuuri making him admit to all of this? Why couldn't he hold back and keep things hidden like he always did? Yuuri didn't need to be made aware of all of this, didn't need to see how torn up he was inside, not when he'd already shown him enough, more than he'd ever shown anyone. But just like that night a little more than a month ago, he couldn't stop it now that it had begun to release itself. He could only hold in the pain for so long, and he'd been doing so for nearly four years. It hurt too much to keep it in any longer. He felt like he was dying.

"Please," he found himself begging, fisting Yuuri's white shirt desperately. "Please, just stop. Don't say anything, don't do anything; don't make me think I stand a chance when we both know I really don't."

"Wolfram…" Yuuri tried again, finding it hard to look at his face, at the heartache mirrored in his emerald eyes. He couldn't hear the other boy's reply, nothing but quiet pleas made it passed Wolfram's lips, repeated over and over again in an endless litany. Once more he found himself drowning in insurmountable guilt, hating himself for doing this to one of his close friends, despising himself for keeping him hanging on, for being too selfish to let him go.

And he couldn't, he realized; he couldn't release him from the pain just the same as he couldn't force himself to reciprocate. Either way, things would change. Either he'd have to accept certain things about himself, things he feared, things he didn't want to be, or he'd end up pushing Wolfram away. The blond boy would leave him if things turned out that way, he knew he would. Nothing would ever be the same between them. Their friendship would die with their relationship, because both were so affected by Wolfram's love, so dependent on it.

Yuuri didn't want anything to change, but it had to; _he_ had to. They couldn't keep going on this way, tangled in a web of their own making, created through confusion, fear and need. Their feelings for one another were so similar, and yet so completely different at the same time. They were both lost and confused, both afraid of what the future would bring, of what would happen to them as time passed them by, sharpening the pain. And each of them needed the other, for comfort, for understanding, for the companionship that was so hard to find anywhere else. Yuuri needed to know that Wolfram was there for him, just as Wolfram needed to know that he had a place by Yuuri's side.

"I'm sorry," the king apologized, watching as his friend struggled to hold back such deep rooted sorrow. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," Wolfram said, his voice finally cracking. "Neither did I," he added, so tempted to rest his head against Yuuri's shoulder and cry for the both of them, though he knew it wouldn't solve a single thing. "But it's not your fault," he said as a way to perhaps lessen the guilt he knew Yuuri was forcing onto himself. "It's mine. I'm the stupid fool who…"

'_You're wrong,'_ Yuuri thought, though he didn't say it out loud, even when Wolfram trailed off. _'It_ is_ my fault. Maybe… maybe everything isn't, but this… _this_ is my fault.'_

'_You didn't make him love you,'_ the other half of his mind said - the half that always tried to justify his actions, that tried to deny everything and free himself from blame. _'You didn't ask for this.'_

'_He didn't either.'_

But what were they supposed to do? What was _he_ supposed to do? Yuuri had a pretty strong feeling that continuing on as they normally did would only worsen things. They were already too close, too dependent on one another, despite the fact that he had yet to discover his true feelings. If Wolfram broke, so would he, and vice versa. It had always been that way, ever since they'd first met, ever since Wolfram had pulled him back over that ledge, when the blond had made the most important promise out of all the promises he'd ever made to anyone. Their lives were too interconnected. They'd fall together, bleed together, hurt together, and die together.

'_I'm so stupid,'_ Yuuri's mind readily supplied, more than happy to point out all the ways in which he'd screwed up. _'But I can't stop it. I don't know how. I don't know what to do.'_

His hands, with a mind of their own, rose up to frame the other boy's face, releasing the hold he'd had on his arm, moving close to lean down and touch their foreheads together. Wolfram had closed his eyes, long, golden lashes resting against smooth, pale cheeks, and Yuuri stroked a finger over them gently, brushing a single tear away, listening as the prince took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. Wolfram's hands still gripped his shirt tightly, bunching and wrinkling the fabric, the two appendages shaking ever so slightly. He was trying to hold back, to keep it all in, bottling it up inside of himself like he always did.

Yuuri's lips quirked into a smile filled with irony, thinking he and Wolfram were similar in so many different ways. Here he was struggling with his anger, with his feelings for the other boy, and Wolfram was doing the same thing with his sadness and pain, concealing it behind careless smiles, behind well-used denial. Neither of them were being completely open with the other, in spite of all their efforts. Somewhere inside Yuuri knew nothing would be resolved until they were, until they could trust enough to admit to things that were constantly kept locked away.

'_We have to try,'_ he thought, brushing Wolfram's hair out of his face again, hand tangling into golden locks, taking in the way the silken strands slid through his fingers. _'Try.'_ The word reverberated within his mind, his own eyes trailing lower, passed his nose to the lips that were so close. All it would take was the slightest of movements; he could easily pull the prince closer, lean further down. It wouldn't take much of an effort, and he could do it quickly, before the other half of his brain could stop him, before his courage could slip away.

'_Try.'_

He leaned in before he could think better of the idea, before he could think of a hundred and one reasons why he shouldn't, pressing his lips to Wolfram's before he could mess things up again (though he was dimly aware of the fact that this could have been just the mistake required to do so). Wolfram's eyes fluttered open in shock, his breath catching in his throat, green staring directly into black, and Yuuri almost pulled away, almost stopped, intent on apologizing, feeling like a fool. But then his friend's lids slid shut again, and the hands that had been gripping so tightly to his shirt loosened, palms flattening against his chest as Wolfram drew closer, sighing lightly through his nose.

Yuuri's eyes slipped closed only seconds later, one hand still tangled in Wolfram's hair, the other resting against the softness of his cheek, keeping him in place. His mind fogged up and shut down as he was filled with an inexplicable warmth, his heart hammering away in his chest, so hard and fast he was sure Wolfram could feel it. His blood washed swiftly through his veins, leaving him dizzy, and he wondered in a second's worth of clarity if Wolfram was experiencing similar sensations. He felt detached from the rest of the world, like this was the only thing that mattered, like he and the blond were the only two people alive.

It was hot, and the tension he'd felt between them earlier was suddenly ten times thicker, sweeping over and through him in harsh, searing waves, his senses again focused on the boy in front of him. The kiss itself was light and chaste, shy and a little awkward, just as it had been the first time their lips had sealed together; but behind it he could feel something deeper, more primal than the innocence of before. It was like there was something inside of them, inside of _him_, waiting right beneath the surface, lurking in the darkness of his mind, waiting patiently for the right moment to consume them. It caused a tingle to shoot down his spine, and he shivered, his hand tightening in Wolfram's hair.

The fear that gripped him then was sudden, forcing away every other feeling that had arisen. Fear of change, fear of becoming someone he wasn't, fear of destroying everything he and Wolfram had built over the years, fear of hurting the one person who meant the most to him. He feared the power he had over the blond, the same power Wolfram had over him, feared making a mistake, feared the pain of disappointment, of betrayal. It scared him how his world had so suddenly narrowed down to one person, so that nothing else seemed to matter but him.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Wolfram wasn't supposed to mean so much. He couldn't be distracted, couldn't cross that line he'd been straddling for so long, not now, not yet, not when so many other people needed him. He had to focus, had to do his job. He couldn't allow anyone else to be placed into a position of danger, not Wolfram and not their people. This… this attachment… it would only cause them more problems in the end, more troubles that couldn't be solved, more heartache than what was already being felt. There wasn't any way this could work, not with things currently as they were.

The realization was enough to have Yuuri jerking back, their lips separating, and his eyes snapping open, his mind coming back to him as the fog lifted. His hands slid away from the slighter boy, Wolfram looking up at him with a mixture of confusion and concern shining in his wide green eyes, reaching out to the king as Yuuri moved back. He could feel hands against his chest, rubbing lightly, comfortingly, trailing up to his shoulder, like they could lift the weight that rested upon them. But they were too small, too pale, too thin, and they only added to the oppressing heaviness that weighed him down.

"No… no…" the dark haired king muttered, slowly shaking his head, forcing his mind away from the softness of Wolfram's skin, from the warmth and care, from the love that radiated from him.

"Yuuri?"

The demon king was quick to push the blond away, causing him to crash into the bed, those thin, pale hands grabbing onto the bed post, keeping him upright. "No!" Yuuri said again, his own hands coming up to cover his face in shame. "I can't…" he muttered in between his palms. "I don't…"

Wolfram pushed himself up, emerald eyes gleaming in absolute fury, his heart clenching tightly in his chest, an inner pain that was almost too much to handle. He glared at the man he'd married, although he was also angry with himself; he couldn't believe he'd allowed that to happen knowing full well that that was not what Yuuri wanted, knowing that it would be too much too fast… for both of them.

"I told you!" the young prince shouted, feeling tears enter his eyes, though he stubbornly held them back, refusing to show any more weakness to this man than he already had. "I told you! I knew things would still be the same after the wedding, and I was right!" he spat, cursing himself for believing that there could ever be anything between them. "What is this, some sort of game? 'Let me see how far I can string poor, pathetic Wolfram along before reminding him that I don't want him?'"

"No," Yuuri swiftly shook his head, not seeming as if he'd truly been listening to what his friend was saying, but repeating his mantra of 'no' over and over, as if that could somehow fix their sudden problem. His insides were churning, a mix of anxious anticipation - finding it hard to believe that he'd given into curiosity and kissed his best friend - and nervousness, knowing that there was no possible way that this could end well. He'd made a mistake, had gotten too close, and had inevitably made their situation even worse.

He hated himself for doing such a thing, for getting the other boy's hopes up, for hurting Wolfram and playing with his feelings, taking advantage of them simply to satisfy his own curiosity. And when that self-hatred mixed with his ever present guilt… there is was again, that uncontrollable anger surging up within him, boiling his blood and making him tremble. It was more difficult to keep down than it probably should have been, considering it was his fault that all this had happened; Wolfram had had little to do with it - besides inciting a slight attraction.

It would be so easy to release it, to blame Wolfram for everything and save himself the guilt-trip, but the king was well aware that _he_ was the one truly at fault. In his heart he knew he had to push it down, force it away; he couldn't give into the rage, not now, not over something like this. His mind, however, didn't want to feel so lost anymore, wanted to be free of the anger, free of the confusion, and go back to how things used to be, back to when life was simple, when he didn't have to worry about things like love.

"You always do this," Wolfram continued his pained rant, his face reddening with an increase in his ire. "You get closer and then you pull away again! You hug me, then try to skip out on the reception on the night of our wedding! You hold me when we sleep, then tell me to go away when the only thing I want to do is help you! Do you enjoy it?! If you don't really want me, stop acting like you do! It's not fair!"

"Don't tell me what's not fair!" Yuuri spat in return, finally losing control, releasing the uncontrollable pent up frustrations that threatened to consume him. "I could have been a normal kid with a normal life, but I got dragged here instead to become king, and now I have to put up with all this shit because people are too damned stupid to talk to one another! _That's_ not fair! I never asked to come here! I never asked to care about you or anyone else! And now you expect me to change who I am, what I've always thought, and how I feel because you just so happened to fall in love with me!"

"I'm not expecting you to change!" the blond claimed vehemently. "I just want you to stop giving me all these mixed signals! If you're going to kiss me, then do it, damn it!"

"That's not…" Yuuri began, shaking his head once more, his hands now lowered by his sides, clenched tightly into fists. "That's not what I was doing!"

The prince's pretty face turned completely scarlet in resentment. How could Yuuri possibly deny what he'd only just been doing? Did he truly believe what he was saying? Did he honestly expect Wolfram to believe it? "That's the biggest load of horseshit I've ever heard in my life!" Wolfram nearly shrieked, and he had to hold himself in check so as no to attack the other young man, wanting to inflict as much pain on the king as Yuuri had on him. "You kissed me and you liked it, and you damned well know it!"

Wolfram watched Yuuri's reaction, green eyes taking in the way his fists shook. The black haired man lifted one trembling hand almost as if to lash out at the blond, to punish him for causing him so much turmoil, but he didn't follow through with it, bringing his palm to his forehead instead, as if to fight off a pounding ache within. Wolfram almost wished the king would hit him, if only to have a good excuse to return the gesture.

"I can't deal with this right now," Yuuri muttered, then immediately turned around and headed towards the bedroom door.

Wolfram stood still and watched him go for a moment, the king's intent not really registering until the door had opened and Yuuri had crossed through the threshold, entering into the hallway with quick, stiff strides. Only then did the blond demon follow him, standing in the doorway as green eyes gazed upon the Japanese man's retreating figure. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded loudly, not caring if he awoke anyone in some of the nearby rooms or attracted the attention of the guards on patrol.

"I'm going home!" Yuuri shot over his shoulder, stopping momentarily in his journey to the private baths.

Wolfram's wrath only increased, his eyes widening in disbelief. "_Now?!_"

"Yes, now!"

The prince nearly sputtered, almost ready to run after the dark haired male and pull him back. "But you can't just leave!" he shouted, taking a few steps into the empty hall, his near hysterical voice echoing off the stone walls. "You've got things to do, and-"

"You deal with it!" Yuuri spat, his own eyes narrowed, glaring heavily at the other boy. "That's what I married you for, isn't it?"

Wolfram felt as if he'd been stabbed as that inquiry repeated itself within his brain, the thought that Yuuri was using him again materializing in his mind. His throat constricted and pain filled his heart, making it difficult to speak, to fight back, to continue with the anger that worked so well in concealing his insecurities. He felt as if he were being ripped apart from the inside out, Yuuri's words like sharp daggers that plunged into him repeatedly, through skin, muscle and bone, into the very core of his being.

He trembled harshly, his knees buckling, legs threatening to give out beneath him, and the tears that hung in the corners of his eyes stung so much it was nearly impossible not to release him. Only Yuuri could bring this sort of reaction out of him through words alone, only Yuuri had enough power over his emotions to reduce him to nothing more than a weeping child. He hated it, despised feeling so vulnerable before someone who could so easily break him, but there was nothing he could do to change it.

"Fine!" he managed to say, his voice cracking with emotion. "Go home! Run away, you coward!"

Yuuri flinched at his choice of insults, 'coward' hurting tens times more than the weak and often times affectionate 'wimp.' "Shut up!" was all he could think to say to save himself from the overwhelming guilt. "Maybe things wouldn't be so hard if you'd stop pushing me!" he said, though he knew that over the last few months Wolfram had been nothing if not accommodating.

"_I'm_ pushing you?" the full blooded demon questioned him, finding it difficult to cease the shouting. "You're the one who kissed me, you brainless fool!" he reminded him, his breath hitching somewhat as he did so. "I didn't hold you down and force that on you! You did that on your own!"

"I wasn't kissing you!" Yuuri denied again, his handsome face flushing in a mix of anger and embarrassment, knowing that what he spoke was nothing but lies, but unable to explain what he'd done and why, nor was he willing to sort it all out at the moment.

"Keep telling yourself that! Keep drowning yourself in your denial! That's what you're good at!"

"What the hell would you know?!" the Demon King shouted, then completed his escape to the bath, slamming the door violently behind him.

By this time a few guards had appeared to see what was the cause of all the commotion this late in the evening, and seeing their prince standing in the doorway of the royal bed chambers, obviously distraught, did nothing to alleviate their curiosity. There were whispers between a couple of them, none of the men having heard the beginning of the argument that had led to the departure of their king, and so they could only draw conclusions from the little they had heard. It wasn't very helpful, and so they could only stare at the blond, waiting for whatever his reaction would be.

"Stupid!" Wolfram muttered, though he didn't know if his insult was intended to be directed at Yuuri or at himself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he repeated, lifting one of his clenched hands and punching the stone wall, paying no attention to the gossiping guards or the pain shooting through his fist.

Everything had been going so well tonight. He'd managed to pull Yuuri away from his self-imposed guilt, had spent an extremely rare period of quality time with the man he loved, a man who was now his husband - although Yuuri seemed adept at forgetting that fact until it served him well - and now things had been thrown backwards, ruined nearly beyond recognition. A part of him wondered if he was being too selfish, if he was expecting too much out of the dark young man despite his best intentions, but then he reminded himself that Yuuri had been the one to initiate the kiss. The king could deny it all he wanted, but that didn't change the fact that it had happened.

At the time that it had occurred, he'd debated with himself on whether or not he should have stopped Yuuri and pulled away. He'd known that Yuuri hadn't really meant it, had probably done it to ease whatever curiosities he had, but Wolfram had been waiting so long for some show of affection from the other boy, was starved for his touch, his attention, wanted nothing more than to hold him close and let the world go by around them. He wanted more than what they had now, even though he'd promised Yuuri that he wouldn't push him into anything he didn't want. If anything happened between them, it would be Yuuri's choice.

But that kiss… when the king had pressed his lips to his own, it had been the best feeling in the world. The first kiss they'd shared during their wedding couldn't even compare, though it had been just as chaste. He'd wanted to pull the black haired man closer, press up against him so it was like they were one body, had wanted to throw his arms around his neck and run his hands through Yuuri's thick black hair. If he hadn't been so surprised, he probably would have done just that. If Yuuri hadn't changed his mind and pulled away so soon, he could have enjoyed it.

"Stupid!" he hissed again, heedless of the pain lacing through his abused hand, unable to stop one tear from trickling down the side of his face, inwardly telling himself that he shouldn't be thinking of such things right now, not when Yuuri was leaving.

That thought was enough to have him sprouting into action, his eyes widening again as the true meaning behind Yuuri's escape hit him like a smack in the face. The king fully intended to return to his home world, to go back to Earth for God only knew how long, leaving the blond to deal with a kingdom in the midst of chaos. Wolfram knew he probably should have been angry, but he inevitably found that he was more scared than anything else, forcing that fear down as best as he could. He was tempted to run towards the bath and stop Yuuri before he could complete the teleportation, but he knew he'd already wasted too much time.

Yuuri was most likely already home at that point.

'_That coward,'_ he thought, livid in the face of rejection and his new responsibilities.

"Your Majesty," a male voice called from somewhere near by, but Wolfram paid no attention to it, too focused on more important things than the meddling guards that ambled about the halls.

'_Damn him!'_

"Your Majesty?"

'_Who the hell does he think he is? He doesn't have any right to treat me like this!'_ the blond prince internally told himself, conveniently forgetting that Yuuri was the king and could legally do whatever he wanted to whomever he chose.

"Your Majesty!"

It wasn't until a hand came up to rest upon one of his shoulders that Wolfram realized that the person the guards were talking to was actually him. He wasn't used to the title, not when he'd been referred to as 'Your Excellency' for as long as he could remember. It was odd having everyone call him the same thing they called Yuuri.

'_Yuuri…'_

"Leave me alone," he commanded, shrugging the hand away and moving so that no one was close enough to reach out to him. He didn't want their comfort, their concern, or their pity. The only thing he wanted was Yuuri.

"But, Your Majesty," the same guard tried again, nervous in the face of the prince's anger, well aware of how easy it was to set him off. "Your hand," he said, motioning to the appendage in question. "It's bleeding."

Wolfram looked down then, gazing upon the hand he'd previously been bashing into the stone wall. It throbbed in pain, a sensation he hadn't been able to notice while so consumed by anger and grief, too concerned about Yuuri's escape to care about any harm he may have caused himself in the middle of his fit. The knuckles had cracked, blood dripping down and in between his finger in tiny rivulets, a few stray drops splattering against the stone floor. His digits twitched when he tried to move them, but he couldn't bend them too far before it hurt too much to move, his fingers cramping painfully.

Somehow, though, the self-inflicted injury didn't seem all that important.

"I don't care," he muttered quietly, turning away from the guards so he wouldn't have to look at them, and so they couldn't see the way he clutched his bruised and bleeding hand to his chest, right over his bruised and bleeding heart.

"Would you like for me to call Gisela?" the same guard inquired.

"No," Wolfram replied with a swift shake of his head. "I just want to be left alone."

"But-"

"Shut up and return to your duties!" the prince viciously snapped, causing the men who had gathered in the hallway to jump and scatter, returning to their posts as they'd been told and not daring to speak even another word to the irate blond, fearful for their lives.

Wincing at the physical pain he finally allowed himself to feel, Wolfram slowly walk backed into the room he shared with the absent king, wondering how long it would take for word to spread that Yuuri had left. Frowning as this evening's events replayed in his mind, the golden haired prince shut the thick wooden door, resting his back against it as he slid to the ground. He felt like weeping, but he held back, choosing instead to glare at the far wall and curse his fate.

He couldn't take much more of this. He was dying inside. With every cruel word uttered from Yuuri's lips and every push back after getting so close, Wolfram could feel his heart splitting down the middle, close to breaking completely.

**TBC…**


	12. Renoncer

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Twelve - Renoncer - To Renounce  
**

Gisela walked down the halls of Blood Pledge Castle at a steady pace, the heels of her shoes echoing off the thick stone walls. She'd awakened a few hours ago, and after looking in on little Alexei and seeing that he was healing properly, she'd taken some time out of her usually busy day to pick some medicinal herbs on her own, a task she usually left up to the maids. She'd waited a while before making her way to this section of the palace, wanting to put her visit off long enough to give her most recent patient time to cool off.

She'd been told of the occurrences of the previous evening not long after they'd happened, one of the castle guards coming to her to speak of the young Prince's condition, and although in any other instance she would have gone to check on him right away, the reassurance that he had done nothing more than slightly injure his hand had kept her away, as had the warning of his current bad mood. If the rumors that were circulating about His Majesty's departure were true, then she knew for a fact that the Prince would not want to be bothered, not by anyone or anything.

But she couldn't ignore him completely, nor did she want to. After the young demon had refused to come out of his and the king's room for the early morning meal, and when he'd shouted at Doria to leave him alone when she'd tried to bring his breakfast to him, Gisela had finally been given a formal summoning. Her adopted father had come to her in the middle of her herb picking, looking more than a little exasperated, both by the Prince's behavior and by the current affairs of the kingdom. She'd put her work aside immediately, and had begun her trek to the royal bedchambers.

There wasn't any real concern for Prince von Bielefeld's health, at least not at this point in time, as the injury to his hand had not seemed too severe according to the guard who'd spoken to her yesterday evening, and if he was still able to shout at and frighten the maids then he was no doubt still in perfect health. Gisela suspected the only issue at the moment was his anger, an emotion that, when felt in excess, could cause him to act in an exceedingly childish manner. That in itself was enough to explain her father's vexation. If the Prince was in a bad enough mood that he'd shut himself away in his room and refused to take food, then the king's duties were not being seen to in his absence, and Wolfram's apparent lack of responsibility was upsetting the Aristocrats.

Gisela had known Wolfram long enough to be used to these sorts of things by this point. She'd made many trips to the capital in her childhood, when her father's presence had been requested at the palace, and she'd been acquainted with the blond demon Prince for a good portion of his life. He was a rather hard individual to ignore; his childish fits and tantrums had become rather legendary, stories that some of the older maids told to amuse themselves as they cleaned and went about their daily chores, tales that made the younger ones quite reluctant to be anywhere near the blond haired demon.

Gisela herself didn't think they were so bad. Being of a lower social status, she'd had the displeasure of meeting more than a few snobbish nobles in her lifetime, ones she could stand even less than the fair Prince. Although others may not agree or feel the same way as the green haired healer, Gisela von Christ was sympathetic towards Lady Celi's youngest son, and although she was truthfully closer in age to Lord Weller, she felt deeper feelings of friendship towards the blond boy.

Many years ago, when Prince Wolfram had been nothing more than a child, she hadn't known him all too well then, but she'd felt sorry for him regardless. She'd spoken to him very few times, usually only when necessary, but she'd easily been able to see the loneliness within his green eyes, the kind of loneliness no child should ever have to feel. He'd been loved by his mother, it was true, and looked after by both of his older brothers, but just because he'd been showered by attention at times didn't mean he had never been neglected. Lady Celi had had her duties to attend to, Lord Gwendal had had the kingdom to watch over and protect, and Conrart had had his adventures with his father to pull him away from the castle and his little brother.

It was no wonder Wolfram had closed himself off, had felt isolated and betrayed, and though Lady Celi held a deep love for each of her sons, her constant travels had had a lasting effect on the young prince, as had Gwendal's aloofness - his attempts to shield his feelings and act as if he cared for no one - and Conrart's family secret, ones that, when revealed, had awoken feelings of betrayal within the blond demon. He'd had very few people to turn to over the course of his life, fewer that he could trust, and many of those he'd given his love to had been too busy to return it adequately or had left him behind in some way - his father had left all together; Julia had died.

It was easy to see that that loneliness still lingered, even though his mother had more time for him, even though Gwendal had begun to ease up, and even though his relationship with Conrart had begun to heal. It was still there, beneath the surface, and it broke her heart to see it. It reminded her too much of her early childhood, when she'd been abandoned, before being adopted by her father. It's what made her so fond of the younger boy, what had made her help him so many years ago when Conrart had left for Big Cimaron and the king had been missing. He'd looked so pathetic wallowing in his loneliness and misery.

The green haired medic sighed as she came to the thick doors that blocked off the royal bed chambers, her emerald eyes spying Conrart standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the stone wall. She spared him a smile before lifting a hand to knock on the door, knowing how worried he must be a the moment. He'd devoted himself to protecting the demon king from the moment he'd been entrusted with Julia's soul, but that commitment did little to prevent him from continuing to look after his little brother, whether said little brother wanted his care and protection or not.

"Go away!" she heard the shouted order from within the room, and she wasn't surprised at all by the level of anger and annoyance demonstrated in those two words.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Your Majesty," she said with a smile, calling him by his new title, one she had yet to get used to when she'd spent so many years calling him by something else. Slowly she eased the door open, wary off any objects that may end up being thrown in her direction, and when nothing was projected her way and nothing more was said, she slipped passed the door and into the room, closing the portal behind her to allow them some privacy.

Wolfram was sitting up at the head of the bed, resting back against a few large pillows that had been propped up, looking as if he hadn't slept at all the night before. He was still clothed in his pale pink nightgown, having not cared enough to get dressed and make himself presentable. The only thing protecting him further from the cool early morning temperatures that plagued the palace was a white bathrobe, hanging loosely from his narrow shoulders, his arms not even slid into the sleeves.

He looked somewhat paler than usual, no doubt caused by his anxiety and lack of sleep, his green eyes swollen and puffy, enough evidence that, in his solitude, he'd allowed himself to show more weakness than he would in the presence of others. He held his injured hand in his lap, the damage apparent from where she stood by the door. It appeared more bruised than anything else, though it was stained with blood in various places, mainly along his knuckles. She shook her head at the sight of it, wondering if he would ever be able to control his temper enough to prevent him from causing harm to himself or others.

"I'm not hungry, and I'm not going to eat anything," the Prince warned her, refusing to look her way.

"And you know I'm not here because of that," she replied, her smile still present despite the harsh tone of his voice. "Starve yourself if you want. That isn't going to bring the king back any faster."

He winced at her words, shutting his eyes tightly as his uninjured hand clenched into a fist by his side. He trembled ever so slightly, so minutely that it wouldn't have been noticed by those who did not know him well enough to have memorized his reactions and mannerisms, though whether it was in fury or in anguish she was unable to tell. Sometimes he would react similarly to both, making it hard to distinguish what he was feeling. He masked most feelings that he did not wish to expose with anger, so that it was often difficult to discern any others.

"So," she began, slowly walking towards the large bed, and the boy sitting dejectedly in the middle, "would you mind telling me what happened to your hand, Your Majesty?"

"I injured it," he answered her shortly, annoyed that his period of self-pity had been interrupted.

"How?" she asked him patiently, setting her medical supplies down on one of the bedside tables, opening the brown satchel to begin removing medicinal balms and a roll of bandages.

"Does it matter?" he wondered quietly, still not looking in her direction, his eyes staring off at the other side of the room, though it didn't appear as if he was looking at anything in particular, merely staring off into space.

"It's not every day I'm called to see you for a bloody hand," she pointed out, opening a jar of antiseptic. "Usually it's for an upset stomach, recurring nightmares, insomnia…"

"I haven't had insomnia in years," he said once she'd trailed off, and Gisela thought it a wonderful accomplishment that she was actually getting him to speak to her without him shouting in a fit of rage.

"Not since I started giving you those herbs to mix with your tea before bed every night," she smiled lightly, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed. Gingerly she reached out for his hand, though he didn't seem to notice her movement, not even snatching the appendage away when she pulled it towards her and began applying the liquid medication to his split skin. "I trust that they're working well, then. Perhaps you should suggest them to His Majesty. Hasn't he been unable to sleep as of late?"

He flinched again at the mention of the king, snatching his hand away quickly, as if snapping out of a trance and coming to his senses. "There isn't much point in that now," he shot back harshly.

"And why is that?" she prodded, as if she didn't already know the answer. When he refused to reply she continued to speak. "Are you going to tell me how you injured your hand or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

He frowned deeply, looking off to the side and determinately not facing her, bringing said hand up to cradle it against his chest. "I punched a wall," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because I felt like it," the prince replied sarcastically, slowly becoming annoyed with her questioning. He rolled his eyes, a better reaction that his previous ones, at least in her mind, since it was more normal than silence and tears. "I was angry; why else?"

"And what had you so angry that you'd hurt yourself?"

"I wasn't trying to get injured," he frowned, his bottom lip sticking out in a slight pout.

"But you did anyway," Gisela reasoned, reaching out to grab his bruised hand again, pulling it back to finish applying the antiseptic.

"Are you going to bandage my hand or not?"

She ignored his attitude as best as she could, used to it after so many years. She knew it was nothing more than a defense mechanism anyway, that he was trying his best to act as if the king's sudden departure had no affect on him, when in reality he was probably crushed. "Not until you tell me what happened. I think I at least deserve an explanation, whether you give one to the others or not."

"I punched a wall," he repeated his explanation from a few seconds ago, obviously not feeling he should elaborate.

"From the beginning," she prodded again.

The prince was silent for a long while, still refusing to look her in the eye. The green haired woman waited patiently, continuing the task of seeing to his hand, inspecting it for any severe damage, testing each of his finger to make sure none were broken. He winced a bit when she moved his pinky, but she didn't think he suffered from anything worse than a sprain, nothing that wouldn't heal quickly with the proper care. He was lucky he hadn't hurt himself more severely, and prevented his use of the sword.

She took a moment to spare a look at his face as she set the jar of soothing balm aside, noting his deep frown and the harsh set of his delicate jaw. His eyes had tightly shut again, concealing the emotions currently swirling within them. She raised a green eyebrow in curiosity as he began to tremble, pausing in her act of healing as both of his hands began to shake, and she slowly reached out to take hold of one of them comfortingly. If he noticed her act of compassion, he refused to say anything about it, either that or he chose to ignore it completely.

"It's Yuuri," he finally spit out, and if she listened closely, Gisela could hear the small amount of pain in his voice.

"Was there an altercation between you and His Majesty?" she asked curiously, though she was more than aware of the circumstances leading up to his injury.

"Isn't there always?" he reasoned, sounding bitter.

Gisela simply smiled, stilling the shaking in his hand enough to begin wrapping it in white bandages. "And what was the argument about this time?"

"I don't think that's any of your business!" he replied defensively.

The female medic knew his statement was true. The private lives of the king and fellow members of the royal family where of no concern to those below them, and although trouble could be found in questioning the boy further she continued on. She knew there was little he would do to her besides shout in her face and demand that she leave. Gisela was one of the very few people Wolfram trusted, one of those special few who earned the right to be called a friend.

"Pardon me for intruding, Your Majesty," she apologized, her smile remaining despite his shouting. "It's not my place as a mere medic to question you. However, I'd like to think that, as your friend, I'd be able to help you."

"And what could you possibly do?" he wondered. "You've already said there isn't much I can do to make Yuuri come back! He'll return when he's good and ready, and until then…" he trailed off for a moment, pausing in his speech, as if figuring out exactly what he wanted to say. "Until then…"

"Until then you'll continue to lock yourself in your room, starve yourself, and ignore everyone who shows concern towards you?"

Finally he looked at her, glaring sharply. She fully expected him to start yelling again, and so she was surprised when he opened his mouth and spoke softly instead, his voice somewhat choked up. "How would you feel if the person you've devoted yourself to for four whole years left you over and over again?" he wondered rhetorically, though she knew he was speaking of himself and the king. "How would you feel if the man you love constantly pushed you away, when you want nothing more than to help him? How would you feel if a week after your wedding, your husband leaves you because he can't stand the idea of kissing you?!"

His voice raised steadily, growing louder with each question, until he was nearly screaming into her face. Her smile left her then, and she was severely tempted to pull the younger mazoku into a hug. She held that reaction back, however, knowing he wouldn't take too kindly to being smothered, whether he accepted her as a friend or not. There were still certain things he would not tolerate from anyone. Few people in the world had ever been allowed to touch him; everyone else he kept a safe distance from.

"I'm sure that's not why he left," she said quietly, shaking her heard, not knowing the full details, but hoping with a little more prodding the prince would finally spit it all out.

"What would you know?!" he spat harshly, pulling away from her again, moving so that his back was facing the older woman.

"I know that His Majesty is too kind to hurt you intentionally."

"_Intentionally_," Wolfram stressed the word, his shoulder tense and his voice tight. "That doesn't mean he's never hurt me," he added quietly, as if it took all he had just to admit to something like that, to admit that he could be hurt, so easily, and by the one person in the world who stubbornly refused to bring harm to anyone, be they friend or enemy.

Part of Gisela wondered if King Yuuri was even aware of what he was doing to his former fiancé and current husband. She'd like to think he had no clue, that he was ignorant of the pain he'd brought to the young demon prince, but she knew that wasn't the case. It would be hard for him not to realize when everyone else within the castle had known all along. That thought made her heart clench in her chest, wondering how their kind-hearted king could possibly leave Wolfram like this, knowing all the while what it would do to him, how it would make him feel.

Gisela loved the king the same as everyone else - well, maybe not everyone, considering a majority of nobles within the royal court were angry with him right now, but she respected him a great deal, looked up to the younger man and hoped and prayed for his success. He reminded her too much of Julia for her not to like him. He was kind like Julia, compassionate, and willing to sacrifice himself as she had. It was painful to think about, and she prayed daily that his fate would not be the same as her old friend's.

Despite their similarities, however, it was easy to see the differences the boy-king possessed. He was more stubborn than Susannah Julia had ever been, more forceful with his ideals and desires for a peaceful world. Yuuri was more likely to act on those beliefs, to actively make them a reality, whereas Julia would have simply spoken with others and tried to convince them. Her soul was what made Yuuri so kind and generous, Gisela was sure, but there was something else within the boy that was constantly at odds with that.

She supposed it had something to do with the Original King's powers, which had been passed down through their long line of Kings and Queens. Perhaps if their present king had been allowed to grow up with the knowledge of the powers he possessed, his alter-ego - the personification of the feelings of hate and anger that Julia had never held within herself - would never have been formed. Perhaps he wouldn't be so conflicted with himself now. Maybe if he'd been born and raised here, he wouldn't be having such a difficult time in this world and, in turn, wouldn't have accidentally hurt Wolfram as he was.

Internally, Gisela shook her head, sighing as she continued to stare at the blond prince's back. She knew just as well as everyone that His Majesty being born in this world wouldn't have been possible, even if the Great One had not given the order to send his soul to Earth. It had been far too dangerous in the Great Demon Kingdom those twenty or so years ago, with constant threats against the royal family and against the future king's life. Somehow it had been discovered that a new king would be born soon, and there had been people who'd sought out a way to prevent such an occurrence from happening. As stretched as their armies had been, there had been little they could do to seek out and stop these men from succeeding in their attempts, and so His Majesty's soul had been transported elsewhere.

Knowing that, however, didn't prevent her from wishing for an alternative. The prejudices present on Earth were affecting the king here, affecting Wolfram, troubling the both of them with their ignorance and hatred. His Majesty had been influenced by the people in the other world, and there was little that could change his mind about it, just as there was little that could change his mind about everything else he believed in. For all his open-mindedness concerning the relationships between humans and demon tribe, the double black demon king was still blinded to other things and had yet to truly open his eyes.

His incapacity to accept relationships between the same sex was having an unhealthy effect on Prince Wolfram, that she could clearly see. Whether the king realized it or not, he was only adding on to it by leaving as he had, further alienating the boy who was supposed to be his husband, his unintentional neglect serving to further harm the prince both mentally and emotionally. His inability to love Wolfram would, if this continued, have detrimental effects on the blond's state of mind.

And that's all Wolfram wanted really - to be loved - and she knew that all too well. The boy could care less about the physical relationship found between any normal married couple, although if the king wished to partake in such things she knew Wolfram would sooner die than deny him what was rightfully his as king. The prince merely wanted to be cared for, to be held on occasion, or do the holding as the case may be. He wanted companionship, someone he could trust and talk to about whatever was on his mind, someone he could be with and not feel weak and inferior, not feel isolated and alone. He wanted to be understood, something very few people in this world were able to do for him.

"I'm sure if you spoke with the king about this, he'd realize the error of his ways," she said slowly, moving so that she could face the younger demon again, taking his hand to continue bandaging it. "I'm sure you've rarely told him how you truly feel. Maybe if he knew, he-"

"He _does_ know," Wolfram cut her off, his voice filled with bitterness. "He just doesn't understand."

"Perhaps if you explained to him-"

"And how am I supposed to do that?!" he shouted, glaring green fire at her again, although thankfully he refrained from removing his hand from her grasp, allowing her to finish the task she'd started. "How do I explain it to him when even I don't-" he cut himself off, falling silent as he lowered his gaze, staring intently at the thick winter bedclothes that pooled in his lap.

"You don't understand either," she completed the statement for him, watching as he nodded slowly. "Perhaps, then, it's not something you're supposed to understand." She smiled when he looked up at her curiously, feeling for the moment like an older sister lecturing her little brother. Something about Wolfram always brought such feelings within her, a maternal instinct to guide and protect. "I've never been in love before, so I wouldn't know, but I always assumed it was something that just happened without any sort of reason or explanation."

A slight frown marred his face, as if he were giving her words some serious thought. "Yuuri's mother told me to… to feel, not to think. She said the reason Yuuri is the way he is is because he thinks too much."

"Maybe he does. You'd know that better than I would."

Again he fell silent, staring back across the room and out one of the large windows, the curtains swept aside to provide a stunning view of the castle grounds. His hand lay limply in her hold, and although she was able to finish bandaging the appendage, she had yet to release it, instead keeping her hand over it and concentrating on healing the abused limb. A green light enveloped both of their hands, soothing his, and though she was able to take the physical pain away, there was nothing she could do to stop the pain from eating away inside of him.

"Prince Wolfram," she called to him, watching as he slowly turned to face her again, looking strangely empty now, his green eyes not really focusing on anything in particular. "Perhaps you should be a little more patient with him," she suggested, only to earn another baleful glare.

"Four years isn't patient enough?"

"It was only recently that he even began to acknowledge your engagement. He may just need a little more time to adjust."

The blond frowned at her, obviously not agreeing with her statement in the least. Yet another period of silence descended between them, and although the green haired woman would have liked to continue attempting to cheer her friend up, she didn't think he'd appreciate hearing it all right now, not when it seemed as if her words were doing nothing but making his mood worse. His yelling had ceased - thankfully - though she knew it would take very little to start him up again. One wrong move and his tantrum would begin anew.

Finally he said, so quietly she first wondered if she'd even heard him right, "He kissed me, Gisela."

The older woman tried to contain her surprise, but she couldn't stop her eyes from widening. She'd seen them kiss before, at their wedding, and though most of those in the audience had not cared or paid attention to the king's reaction, she could tell even from the distance between them that His Majesty hadn't been keen on the idea at all, whether it was tradition for the recently married couple to share their first kiss or not. Hearing that he'd done so willingly, in the privacy of their own bedroom with no one there to force him was somewhat shocking.

"He kissed me and then he ran, and denied that he'd even tried," he continued bitterly, trying to keep up his angry face, but his expression was steadily becoming more somber looking, his emerald eyes darkening in sadness, lips lowered in a pathetic frown. "Does he really think it's that revolting?"

"I'm sure that's not the case at all, Your Majesty," she attempted to reassure him. "I think maybe he's just confused. Things are different here than they are on his world, correct?"

"Just because it's different here doesn't mean he'll end up changing his mind. If he doesn't love me, then he doesn't love me. There isn't anything I can do to change that."

"Maybe-"

"There is no 'maybe!'" he cut her off again, not allowing her to complete her sentence. Still, he had yet to raise his voice as he had earlier, speaking quietly, voice filled with a sadness he rarely allowed to show, especially in the presence of others. "I'm tired, Gisela," the blond told her, sounding every bit as exhausted with all of this as he claimed to be. "I can't do this anymore."

"You're giving up?" she wondered in shock. After so many years of unrivaled perseverance, was the young prince finally giving in?

"No," he shook his head, disliking her question and what it suggested about his character. His pride had already taken a huge blow when Yuuri had so viciously shoved him away. He couldn't handle any more. "I'm just admitting to myself that I never really had a chance in the first place."

"You don't know that, Your Ex-… Your Majesty," she told him, correcting herself immediately, having slipped in her efforts to appease him, forgetting for the moment that he was a prince now, not a young noble whose rank was closer to her own. "If you'd just give it some time-"

"I've given it enough time."

"Your Majesty-"

"Don't!" he snapped, turning away once more. His hands were trembling again, clutching at the blankets in his lap, as if doing so could cease the shaking within them. "It's useless."

Gisela frowned deeply, though it was more in sadness than in anger. It hurt her to see the prince suffering so, and she hated that his fate was such. After everything he'd done, after everything he'd been through, after all the years he'd spent trying his hardest to gain the king's love, it seemed as if it were all for naught. Gisela wished with all her heart that there was something she could do, something she could say to make him reconsider, keep him from giving up just yet. Regardless of the fact that the king was so unwilling to admit it, Wolfram had gotten so close. Any more and surely… surely…

But she couldn't say anything, because she knew that he wouldn't listen, no matter how she pleaded with him. If he'd already made up his mind then there wasn't much she could do to change it, just as there wasn't much any of them could do to change the mind of their king. And she hated that fact most of all, hated that Wolfram had been left so shattered, despite his attempts to hide it, that the double black king refused to open his eyes. If only things had been different, if only things had worked out, if only His Majesty weren't so cowardly as to run away every time something concerning the blond haired prince frightened him

Of course, it went both ways. She could curse the king for turning and running all she wanted, but that did nothing to change the fact that Wolfram was running as well, an act so unlike him it was almost hard to fathom. She knew - some part of her knew - that if he only hung in there a little longer, something would happen, something would make things right. If he just gave a little more effort, maybe, just maybe, everything would end up all right, the way it was supposed to, the way they both wanted it to.

"How's my hand?" the prince's voice broke through her thoughts, jarring her back to harsh reality. He was staring her in the eye, perfectly calm, as if he hadn't just decided to give up on the most important thing in his life, his emotions back under the careful control that usually concealed them, his shields back in place.

She could only offer him a small smile, one that didn't even come close to reaching her eyes. "You've suffered a sprain in a couple of your fingers, and your hand on a whole his badly bruised, but if you take it easy for a few days you'll recover in no time."

He nodded, turning once again to look across the room and out the window. "Then, if you don't mind, I'd like to be left alone."

"Of course," she replied, though she would have given anything to stay in there longer and attempt to talk some sense into him. Despite that, she stood from her place by the large bed, not wanting to try his patience at this time, and hoping that some time alone would ease his mind, perhaps make him begin to rethink his plans.

Slowly Gisela placed the jar of antiseptic and roll of bandages back into her brown satchel, moving sedately towards the door. When she reached it, she turned to glance at the prince one last time before exiting, trying to think of something, anything to say. She thought of nothing, however, and released a heavy sigh as her small smile instantly vanished.

Lord Weller was still standing by the door when she walked back into the hallway, straightening up when he heard the creaking of the hinges as the heavy slab of wood was pushed open. His face was twisted in concern, and although she would have permitted him to enter under any other set of circumstances, she said nothing to encourage him to go in. She shook her head instead, watching his face morph into a frown.

It was painful to turn and leave the prince to his misery, but in the end there was nothing more she could do.

* * *

Conrart was seated in a chair in his small office, staring with dull hazel eyes at all the work that had piled up since the last time he'd felt like coming in here. His office was one of his least favorite places to be while within the palace, and not because of any desire he had to skip out of work, but because of the fact that the room was so dreary. Of course, he'd made it that way, long ago when he'd been given this room to use as his own, so he figured he only had himself to blame.

Besides the pile of papers that had steadily grown upon the surface of his plain wooden desk, there were a few trinkets resting against the shelves on the bookcase to his right, but nothing more than that, nothing to brighten the office up a bit or make him feel like spending any more time in here than he absolutely had to. There were no portraits or maps hanging on the walls as there were in His Majesty's study, and the chair he was sitting on was not the least bit comfortable like the one in Gwendal's own office. This was a place for work, and it gave him no small amount of comfort.

Unless he felt like being along, keeping to himself, and sorting out his many thoughts. This was the perfect place to do such things, as there was nothing here to distract him and very few people came in here, especially since he was rarely in here himself. There were many other places people would search before coming to find him here, places he frequented much more often. His office was really a last resort for him, and most of the castle staff knew that it was better not to bother him when he entered this particular room.

Briefly he looked through the papers that completed three stack before him, not really interested in the words scrawled over the parchment, simply searching for something to occupy himself with. There were a few reports that needed to be filled out and filed, but nothing of great importance. Most of the paperwork that needed to be completed immediately was sent to Gwendal first, for the Chief of State to look over and correct, so there wasn't anything pressing that Conrart needed to worry about at this point in time. Both attack incidences were being handled through Gwendal and his men, leaving Conrart with nothing to do but wait for orders.

Instead, he found himself drifting away on his thoughts, sitting back in his chair and staring straight ahead as his worries played out within his mind. There were many things that concerned him, though he was able to hide his uncertainty quite well, and it was moments like these, when he was alone with nothing there to disturb him, that he found himself looking over it all, trying to come up with a solution. The surprise attacks were certainly a main concern, but he found that these were not the main cause of his sudden anxiety.

He was worried about his younger brother, more so than about his king, although there was cause for concern for their double black monarch as well. He'd heard about their argument almost immediately after it had happened - he had a feeling there weren't many people residing within the palace who didn't know about the occurrence (the maids could always be counted upon to spread the castle gossip) - and though his first concern had been His Majesty's resulting confusion and departure, he'd found those feelings shifting towards the blond prince as the days went on.

Three days had passed without any sign of the king, three days that had seen Wolfram locked in his room, refusing to come out for anything. The maids had not been aloud to enter in order to clean, nor had he permitted anyone to bring him his meals. The only person who'd wandered in without being yelled at and in danger of having something thrown at them had been Gisela. She'd made more than a few appearances in that section of the castle, visiting the prince daily in an effort to heal his injured hand and get him to eat something.

The most Conrart could do was stand outside the door, and watch as Gisela came and went, and as others were turned away. Their mother had tried to check on her youngest son, only to find the door locked and she'd received no answer when she'd called his name. Gwendal had been met with the same barrier when he'd come to demand that Wolfram see to his duties, and had ended up shouting at the blond from out in the hall, before storming away with an angry scowl on his face, muttering under his breath the whole way. Conrart had not been able to hear his words, but he couldn't imagine they'd been in any way nice or supportive.

The second son of the former Demon Queen would admit to being somewhat angry over this new turn of events, frustrated that this was happening at a time when they needed their King and Prince to remain strong, so as not to further strengthen the confidence and resolve possessed by their enemies. Most of that anger, however, was not directed at either of the two boys, but at himself. Part of him knew that if he'd only guided Yuuri better, none of this would be happening right now. If he'd only taken the time to sit down and talk with him before the wedding, perhaps none of these misunderstandings between he and Wolfram would be taking place.

It had been a while since His Majesty had last come to him for any sort of advice, since he'd taken the dark haired boy aside and spoken to him about what was bothering him, and help him sort out him troubles. He supposed he'd been a bit distracted lately; he'd been so focused on monitoring Cimaron's activities and making sure that the royal family was indeed safe that he'd forgotten to pay attention to things of a more personal nature, and now there was very little he could do to fix everything, at least not until His Majesty felt brave enough to return.

Some part of him had suspected that something like this would eventually happen, and though he'd been inwardly prepared for it, he felt stupid for not talking with Yuuri about these sorts of things at least once over the last few weeks. It would have helped, he was certain about that, if His Majesty were able to get all of his distress out in the open, if Conrart had helped him work through his problems like he always had. There were most definitely feelings between their king and Conrart's younger brother, he thought that fact was fairly obvious; the problem was convincing Yuuri that there was nothing wrong with it, that there was nothing abnormal about the way he felt.

There was love there, perhaps unnoticed by the king himself, but Conrart could easily see it, even if others couldn't. There had always been a commitment between His Majesty and their newly crowned prince; from the day the two of them had met, they'd been connected by a bond of some sort, one that had connected them over vast distances and unrequited feelings. Wolfram would follow Yuuri anywhere, over mountains or oceans, and he knew that Yuuri would do the same, and that the feelings fueling those actions would be the same, even if neither of them realized it.

He knew there was a love inside Yuuri's heart for Wolfram; he could see it in his eyes every time they were together, every time His Majesty glanced at the moody blond. He could see it in the way Yuuri was so concerned about his best friend's happiness, how he'd do anything to see him smile, and how he always made sure Wolfram was close by, albeit unconsciously - he probably didn't even realize he was doing it, but the double black could never stop himself from glancing around wherever he was, as if seeking out the younger looking man, accustomed to his presence.

But fear had a way of compromising things, and Yuuri's inability to accept his feelings was no doubt caused by his fear of change. The boy-king had a tendency to ignore and/or deny things that didn't fit in with his perfect picture of life. Any amount of pain or death was an injustice deserving of punishment, and even then the king would not permit the taking of any life, innocent or not. War was not an option, no matter what the circumstances, and love was not something that could be controlled by prejudiced laws. 'Love whom you choose' was one of his mottos, regardless of class, color, or race - although it seemed he had a bit of a problem living by his own words in that respect.

It was at that moment that the door to his office creaked open, and Conrart broke his gaze with the piece of parchment he'd been staring at blankly in order to see who would enter at a time like this. He shouldn't have even had to waste time wondering, he knew, his brown eyes settling on his older brother's imposing form. He and Gwendal had hardly spoken to one another at all in the last week and a half, at least not about anything that didn't have to do with their enemy. The older man was probably more frustrated and angry than he was, making these attacks the main focus of all his attention. He hardly had time to deal with anyone else, and the only person he spared even an hour of time for was little Alexei.

"There's been another attack," his said by way of greeting, eyes narrowed dangerously, hands clenched into tight fists, his face set into a glower even darker than his usual one.

Conrart was not surprised by this information, saddened that it had happened, enraged over the fact that their people were being killed and there was very little they could do to prevent it, but not surprised in the least. Two attacks had already been conducted successfully, so why should their enemies stop there? There hadn't been a doubt in his mind that there would be more - although he'd hoped with every ounce of his being that some sort of mercy would be shown - the only questions had been where and when.

"Where?" he asked monotonously, sorrow sweeping through him at the thought of how many more lives had been taken. This was not the kind of news he felt like informing His Majesty of whenever the boy happened to return.

"Pallene and Carne," the darker man replied shortly, one of his hands still gripping the brass doorknob tightly, as if it helped in relieving his stress and could prevent him from falling into a fit of rage.

The second brother's eyebrows rose at that, and he stood from his seat, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. "Two villages?" _That_ was enough to surprise him, although he supposed they should have suspected their enemy would up their efforts after escaping detection the first two times. Their successes had surely increased their confidence. "Simultaneously?"

"No," Gwendal shook his head, slowly dropping his hand and entering the room a bit more, though he made no move to suggest that he would be staying more than a few seconds. "Carne was attacked first and word spread to the neighboring village of Pallene. Their militia then went to lend aid, but by that point most of the village had been leveled. Our enemies then followed them and decimated Pallene. Both villages are now completely destroyed. As in the last attack, there were no survivors," he said all of this in as calm a voice as he could muster, but Conrart knew he was seething inside, he could see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw and the tense line of his broad shoulders.

"So our enemies left the territory of Christ and traveled south to Yale," the brown haired man observed, knowledgeable enough about the kingdom to know exactly where Pallene and Carne were located. He sighed deeply, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead as if it pained him. "Tell me there's at least some small bit of information we've been able to gain after all this."

"GegenHuber sent a message through carrier pigeon after investigating both scenes," Gwendal said, a small portion of his frustrations easing out of him as he did so, "there was one body found in Carne that does not appear to be of demon tribe decent. The man was clothed in black."

"But nothing else could be discovered?"

At that, Lord von Voltaire shook his head, long, dark gray bangs shifting in front of his sapphire eyes. "His uniform was unidentifiable as any that we know of, and he carried no form of crest or identification. His body is being brought back here for Anissina to examine, but I highly doubt there will be much we can learn from a rotting corpse."

"Could we not learn anything from his belongings?"

Another shake of a dark haired head. "His clothing, armor and weapons were all made of common materials - nothing that could possibly lead us in the right direction."

"And no one saw anything? Not their ship or whatever means of transportation they used to make it to Yale?"

"That's all the information we currently have. If we had something more useful, we wouldn't be sitting here while our people are continuously being attacked!!" Gwendal snapped then, the level of his ire rising with his vexation. "We have nothing!! No clues, no way of knowing when and where they'll strike next, and no King to take care of his kingdom!!"

"You know why His Majesty left," Conrart said in return, not allowing his own voice to raise. There would be no use in arguing with his older brother, as much as he was displeased by the fact that Gwendal seemed to be straying away from the dark haired king. This wasn't the time for arguments or disunity, not among those closest to their leader.

"Because he is a coward who can't set his personal problems aside long enough to take care of his people," the older man replied venomously, his compassion for the boy seeming to have sharply decreased. "Winifred has threatened to secede should nothing be done about this."

"She can't do that."

That was a lie and he knew it. The fact was that it had never been done before. No matter what kind of discontent had been present between the Ten Aristocrats since the day of their founding, none of them had ever tried to secede from the kingdom before.

"She can try," Gwendal corrected him, face grim. He'd yet to move from his place in the doorway, just as Conrart had not yet moved from his place behind the desk. "If she does, the Great Demon Kingdom will be thrown into chaos. We'll be even more vulnerable to attack that we already are." He paused then, leveling a glare at his younger brother as he asked, "Where is Wolfram?"

Conrart didn't hesitate in replying, though he knew his answer was not the one Gwendal wanted to hear. "In his and His Majesty's room."

"Go to him," the taller man demanded, growling in anger. "Drag him out if you have to. It's time he stopped acting like a child and took care of his responsibilities."

"Have some compassion, Gwendal. He's not in any state to deal with this right now."

"I've shown enough compassion!" his older brother snapped again, his face slowly turning red, his blood near boiling. "If he's too weak to deal with this, then he should not have agreed to marry the king!!"

"That is not entirely his fault," Conrart readily objected. "Yes, it's true that he agreed, but if it weren't for you and the others pushing for the wedding to take place, he never would have made that decision!! You forced it on him before he was ready!!"

"He should have been ready!" Gwendal countered heatedly. "He knew the day His Majesty proposed that the day when he would rule would eventually come!!"

"How could he have possibly known? You know as well as I do that His Majesty had no intention of going through with the proposal until you and Günter suggested the wedding as a way to stabilize the kingdom!"

"And obviously we were wrong to suggest it. Nothing has gone the way we planned."

Conrart stared at him carefully then, noting the disappointed glint in his brother's dark blue eyes, the way his voice tapered off towards the end of his statement. Suspicion blossomed within him again, the way it had during the ceremony in which the Aristocrats had given their approval of Wolfram, when none of them had opposed the union, though he'd been certain before hand that at least a few of them would have had some objections. What had changed in the short period of time between their meeting in Gwendal's study and the evening of the ceremony?

"Not the way you planned…" the brown haired man repeated curiously, as something in his brain suddenly clicked, and everything fell into place. "You convinced the Aristocrats of the wedding's necessity in order to make them agree. But they wouldn't have if…" he trailed off, noting the way Gwendal's expression had not changed in the least. "You promised them a signed declaration, didn't you?"

Gwendal refused to reply, but his silence was the only answer Conrart needed.

"You planned on making Wolfram sign a declaration behind His Majesty's back. That's the only way they would have agreed."

"It doesn't matter what tactics I employed to win their approval. We'll be lead to war regardless of who signs what. Our enemies will continue to attack, and we will have to stop them, one way or the other," the blue eyed man said, in no way defending what he'd done, simply stating what they both knew was fact.

"That doesn't give you any right to force this on Wolfram!" the king's guardian finally permitted himself to shout, something he rarely did in the presence of his older half brother, having learned at a young age that it was inappropriate to show any amount of disrespect to his elders, be they his relatives or not. "He's still a child, Gwendal!"

His brother's left eye twitched at that, a sign that the brown haired soldier's comment either annoyed him or struck something within him that he did not want to feel - perhaps the older man didn't want to admit that he agreed. Inside, some part of Conrart suspected they would always look at their little brother and see him as a child, no matter what measure of growing up he may go through.

"According to the law, he is not," the older man stated, cold and dispassionate.

Conrart knew he was right and that there was very little use in arguing with the darker man about what the law did and didn't state. It was a well known fact that a demon reached the period of adulthood at the age of eighty - the equivalent of sixteen human years. At that point in a young demon's life, a boy was considered mature enough to be a man, to begin their magic training and enlist in the army. Whether they were physically, mentally, and emotionally mature enough to handle the pressure had never been taken into account.

Wolfram, Conrart knew, was perfectly capable of taking care of himself and others; the problem was his erratic emotions, which had a disastrous effect on his behavior when he was unable to control them, leading him to bursts of immaturity. Physically he was fine - he still had a lot of growing to do in that respect, but he could handle a sword and use his magic as well as anyone else. Mentally he was more than efficient - he'd been well taught in every subject, and although he'd complained to his tutors many times in his youth, he was intelligent enough to make a name for himself in the world of politics.

His emotional growth, however, had been stunted. He supposed it had something to do with the amount of coddling their mother had done in his childhood, more protective of her youngest son than she had been of her first two, perhaps because Wolfram had been a different sort of child than he and Gwendal. 'Needy' was the best word Conrart could come up with to describe the young boy, 'clingy,' too, although that had steadily decreased over the years as Wolfram had learned to depend on himself rather than others. The blond prince was strong, dependable, brave, but he still needed love and attention in order to feel as if he were actually worth something; he needed to know that people were proud of him, that _he_ was needed, in order to have any true confidence in himself - not the fake sort that made him appear arrogant and haughty.

There wasn't anyone in the world Conrart would trust more with the care and protection of their king than his younger brother, and yet the blond was still a child in the emotional sense. Having all of this thrust upon him at a time when the king was away, when he was as unsure of himself as he was now, wasn't something he'd be able to readily deal with, not until he managed to get his confidence back - which may not happen until the one who'd lowered it returned. With Gwendal being as cruel and uncaring as he currently was - which had reached an extreme compared to how the darker man usually acted - and the Aristocrats disrespect and constant insults would do nothing to help raise his sense of self worth.

"I want him out of his room and seeing to his duties by sunset," Gwendal barked harshly, preparing to make his exit of the room. "If I don't see him in His Majesty's study in an hour, there will be hell to pay," he threatened, his voice deep, leaving no room for argument.

"Gwendal-" Conrart tried anyway, taking a few steps in order to move after him, but when his older brother refused to turn and gaze his way again, he stopped a few paces away from his desk, running out of words to say in order to convince the taller man, to make him see things his way.

"I don't want to hear it," von Voltaire replied. "If he wants to stop being treated as a child, then he must stop acting like one." He left then, refusing to look back, heading down the hall to his own office, leaving the brown haired man alone to his thoughts again.

Conrart sighed as he watched him go, turning to glance blankly out the window, resolving himself to his current task. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Gwendal wouldn't follow through with his words if his demands were not met in a timely manner, and that would most likely result in much shouting on the dark haired man's part, directed mainly at their young brother. That didn't mean Conrart had to enjoy doing what he knew he must, and in fact he dreaded heading to His Majesty's room and confronting the blond prince.

He'd devoted himself to the king since he'd been gifted with Susannah Julia's soul, had found a source of comfort in protecting him and watching him grow over the years, feeling much like a father looking over his son - and in a way he had been as responsible as a parental figure in Yuuri's birth and development - but that didn't mean he'd abandoned his responsibilities to his little brother. There was little, if anything, that could prevent him from caring for the younger demon, whether Wolfram returned his feelings or not, and he'd do anything to protect him if he felt he were in any sort of danger.

With Julia gone, Wolfram and Yuuri were now the two most important people in Conrart's life, and it hurt him immensely to see the situation they were in. In a way, he himself was stuck in the middle, between the boy he'd looked after since birth, and the boy he'd committed himself to when he was nothing more than a soul in a glass bottle. He loved them both, and prayed for both of their happiness, whether they found it together or apart, though he wished for the former - for his brother's sake if nothing else.

Firming his resolve, Conrart turned again to the door, and began walking towards it sedately, telling himself he'd try to do as Gwendal requested, but if Wolfram still refused to leave his room he'd leave it at that and deal with their older brother on his own. He refused to subject Wolfram to any more abuse, not when it was slowly becoming obvious to him that the Aristocrats were using him in order to achieve their own desires, the war they so desperately wanted.

That was their sole reason for agreeing, for going along with all of this with less of an argument than what any of them had expected. Knowing this, Conrart would not allow the boy to be used as a vessel towards warfare. He was worth more than that, no matter what anyone else thought.

* * *

Wolfram was still holed up in his and Yuuri's room when he heard a soft knock on the thick wooden door. At first he ignored it, focusing his attention on the food in front of him instead. Gisela had convinced him to eat something the last time she'd come in to look at his hand, refusing to use her healing magic any more than she already had until he'd put something into his empty stomach. She'd come again half an hour ago with a tray of food, and had promised him her wrath should he not eat every last bite.

Normally Wolfram would not have cared what the green haired woman's threats were, for although she could be frightening if she chose to be, there was nothing Gisela could legally do to force him to do anything he didn't want to. The only reason he found himself picking at his food now was because he was hungry, not because of any fear he felt towards the older woman - or at least that's what he told himself; the fact remained that Gisela could be quite scary (and very convincing) if her demands were not met and her orders refused.

Either way he was hungry. His appetite had decreased substantially when Yuuri had first left, but after a few days of turning away all food and refusing to eat anything, his stomach had begun to rebel, demanding to be fed and threatening to eat itself. Even now, though, he found that he had very little interest in the meal that had been sat in front of him, and although he picked at it for a while, eating only what he liked and shoving aside what he didn't, he hardly tasted anything, consuming enough to keep his body functioning but not much else.

When the knocking came again, he looked to the door with narrowed green eyes, as if the one responsible could somehow see how annoyed he was and stop, but he didn't say anything, simply remained sullen and quiet. He didn't want to be bothered right now, not by anyone, and he wasn't about to open the door. The only one he'd allowed in over the last few days had been Gisela, and that was only because he'd rather have his hand tended to and healed than leaving it a bloody, bruised mess. Everyone else he didn't feel like seeing, much less speaking to, already knowing what they'd say.

Gwendal had already come to yell at him more than once, and Mother had begged him to let her in, but he'd refused them both. What did they care, anyway? They didn't understand what he was feeling, or what he was going through. He barely understood it himself, couldn't see how Yuuri had changed him so much, made him so ridiculously pathetic in such a short amount of time. Only Yuuri could reduce him to this piteous, worthless individual he'd become. Only Yuuri could so easily suck all of his strength and confidence away.

At the third knock against the room's door, Wolfram finally allowed himself to release an annoyed growl, dropping his spork onto his plate - which wasn't even half empty yet - and giving the slab of wood that separated he and his source of annoyance another heated glare. Who the hell had the nerve to bother him? Wasn't it obvious by now that he didn't want to be bothered?

"What?!" he snapped harshly, not caring at all who was on the other side, merely wanting them to go away and leave him alone.

"Please open the door," his second brother's calm voice could be heard from out in the hall, soothing even from the distance that separated them. "I have to talk to you."

"Go away!" was Wolfram's immediate reply, wanting to speak with his half-human sibling even less than he felt like talking to anyone else. Conrart was the one closest to Yuuri, and the one who most reminded him of the double black king.

"Wolfram," the brown haired man said his name, and the blond could hear the regret in his voice, the guilt he held for bothering him. "It's important."

"I don't care!"

Silence, but only for a moment. He hadn't expect it to be that easy to get rid of him, anyway.

"Two more villages were attacked."

The prince's heart sank at that little bit of information, his eyes squeezing shut as he raised one hand to his chest, holding it over the organ within himself that had once been used as a key to one of the four boxes, as if doing so could relieve the pain he felt within. More death to sadden their king, more innocent lives taken for hardly any reason at all, and partly his fault, too. What would Yuuri think when he got back? What would Yuuri do when he found out? Would he be upset again? Angry? How would he react, knowing that they'd both let their people down?

"And what do you expect me to do about it?" Wolfram wondered softly, so softly he doubted Conrart was able to hear him well at all.

"Wolfram…" the brown haired soldier tried again, but it was obvious his heart just wasn't in it. He wouldn't force the prince out of his self-imposed confinement.

"Do you want to go to war, Conrart?" he asked his brother then, having yet to truly hear his opinion on this matter - not that it would change his mind at all. He'd already made his promise to Yuuri. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ do what Gwendal and the others wanted and sign a declaration, not without Yuuri's approval - which he doubted he would ever get.

"It doesn't matter what I think or what I want. You have responsibilities. Gwendal's already mad enough as it is. Don't make him any angrier," was Conrart's reply to his question, not a straight answer at all, which was to be expected from his hazel eyed brother.

"So Gwendal sent you to get me," Wolfram stated, not needing to question him to know the truth.

"I know you're upset-"

"You don't know anything," he cut him off, not allowing him to finish whatever he was going to say. He knew what he felt all too well; he didn't need anyone else pointing it out to him.

"Wolfram, please don't be difficult. Not now," the brown haired man continued to speak through the door.

"I'm not being difficult. In fact, I think I'm being fairly simple-minded."

"I don't want to force you-"

"Then go away!"

He didn't want the older man's compassion or his understanding. He didn't want false reassurances and hopes for a brighter future. There was very little that could change how he felt or thought, not when he'd already made up his mind. Conrart could do any amount of begging he wanted; Wolfram was not opening his door, nor was he going to do as their older brother wished. There wasn't much more they could do to deal with an enemy they didn't even know anyway.

His second half brother fell silent after his outburst, and Wolfram inwardly hoped it meant he'd given up. He knew the older man would probably be back later - either that or Gwendal would come to take his place, shouting through the door instead of speaking calmly - but he couldn't find it within himself to care. He felt drained, like the energy had been sucked out of him the moment Yuuri had left, and he didn't want to do anything, or think of anything that reminded him of the black haired boy.

In truth, he was angry at the other young man. There was nothing more he wanted than to shout insults into his face until Yuuri cowered and begged for forgiveness, nothing that would satisfy him more than smacking the younger boy on the back of his black haired head and curse him for being such an idiot. He could understand the fact that Yuuri was stressed right now, that he was upset about how things had turned out recently, and that he was confused as to what he was supposed to do about everything, but he running away was unforgivable.

Where was the old Yuuri, the one so full of smiles and laughter that even dark times seemed bright? Where was the optimistic, energetic, trusting boy he'd first met so many years ago? Yuuri never would have run away back then. He'd faced and handled his fears better than Wolfram ever could, had talked and worked through his insecurities instead of keeping them all to himself, and never would have allowed things to turn out the way they had. Yuuri had always been a wimp, but never before had he seemed like such a coward.

'_Like you're any better,'_ he thought to himself with a deep, disappointed frown, allowing himself a moment of self-deprecation. _'What do you think you're doing, locking yourself in your room when the kingdom is in danger? You should be out there taking care of everything. If anyone's become a coward, it's you.'_

'_But I didn't want this,'_ another part of his mind countered, shaking his head slowly._ 'When I agreed to marry him, I didn't think I'd have to deal with any of this.'_

'_You knew he didn't love you. You_ knew_. Just as you knew the kingdom was slowly following down around you.'_

How had things turned out this way, he wondered? How had things changed so much in such a short period of time. Just four years ago they'd been welcoming their new king, had celebrated his arrival and felt their hopes and confidence renewed. There had been hard times then, surely, but nothing like it had been twenty years ago, nothing like the war at all, because even through their hardships Yuuri had still been there smiling, reassuring them all that things would be okay, that he wouldn't let anyone down, human or demon.

Just three years ago they'd honored the Original King's true passing and Yuuri's unexpected return. Their kingdom, which had been thrown into a state of sadness and confusion after their cheerful king had gone back to earth, was rejuvenated with his reappearance. Things had improved in the world over the time of his rule, so that the conflicts between the two races had been drawn to a minimum. There had been little threat of warfare, not with the way Yuuri had been able to charm nearly every human ruler he came into contact with.

Wolfram supposed they could blame Cimaron for all their problems then, like always, although from the looks of things Cimaron was no longer their main concern. Belar had continued to oppose them, no matter what kind of treaties Yuuri offered to sign, no matter what sort of peace agreements were put into place with other nations. Cimaron had always been, and probably always would be, their rival in the world; Belar was always the one person who could be counted upon to start trouble in times of peace - even now, with proof of Yuuri's kindness, generosity, and open-mindedness, Belar remained adept in convincing other human kings that the demon tribesmen were evil.

Things had steadily begun to disintegrate, and all of that decline had mostly occurred within the last year. As things had changed, Yuuri had begun to go through a change as well. He'd grown older, somewhat wiser, but his optimism had taken a turn for the worse, and with every bad thing that took place, his fortitude decreased that much more. In the last month alone his trust had been tested, his resolve shaken, his relationships with many mangled and strained. It was no wonder he'd run with that much pressure resting upon him.

And Wolfram inevitably found himself mirroring the king's moods, like the faithful shadow he'd always been.

Another knock sounded against the wooden door then, more firm this time, not Conrart's soft, calm hammering. The prince's hands balled into frustrated fists, his dinner now all but forgotten. His teeth clenched in displeasure, wondering what was so hard to understand about wanting to be left to himself.

"Go away, Conrart!!" he shouted rigidly, severely tempted to open the door, throw something at him and be done with it. Surely he'd take the hint then.

"It's not Conrart," a decidedly feminine voice said through the thick wood, filled with light amusement. A girlish giggle followed, one that made him cringe as he thought it was beginning to sound more like his mother's every day. He didn't know which he preferred, Anissina's scheming cackles, Gisela's veiled chuckles, or his mother's mischievous twittering.

"Can I come in or are you going to keep me locked out, too?" Greta asked him, sounding as cheerful and chipper as always, her question causing him to feel the tiniest amount of guilt.

He thought it over for a moment, although it took everything he had not to jump out of his chair and let her in right away. He'd never been able to resist the girl, not when she looked at him with those big brown eyes filled with so much love and admiration. When they'd first met, when she'd attacked Yuuri and made a foolish attempt to kill him (if she'd put more thought into it she would have known it would have been better to get the wimp when he was alone, not when he was surrounded by his many guardians and advisers), he'd been a bit apathetic towards her. What should he care for a human girl, after all?

But when Yuuri had taken the time to get to know her, to try and understand why she'd attempted to kill him, Wolfram had found himself secretly trying to comprehend her reasoning as well, and had grown quite fond of the girl over that time. The child who'd started out shy and afraid had been proven to be extremely outgoing, friendly, and in need of love. Wolfram could sympathize with her in that respect, though he felt it was safe to say his life had started out better than hers and hadn't been near as difficult.

When Yuuri had expressed his desire to adopt her, Wolfram had been secretly pleased, having been hoping that Yuuri's kindness would lead to him keeping the girl at the castle with them. With her there he'd been able to distract himself whenever Yuuri was away, had found a source of comfort and amusement in taking care of her. It made him feel important, the way he felt only when standing by and protecting Yuuri. It made him feel as if he had some sort of purpose, one greater than merely sitting around in the castle, doing nothing until Gwendal felt like giving him a mission or his uncle used him as the Bielefeld link to the capital.

Greta was one of the very few people he felt safe giving a part of his heart to, and so far she was the only one who hadn't done anything to make him regret it.

Unable to stop himself, he stood from his chair and slowly made his way to the door, not caring that Conrart could still be on the other side, waiting for the right opportunity to pull him out and drag him to the king's study. Cautiously he cracked open the door, and when he saw nothing but Greta's young, smiling face, he slid it open wider, allowing her to slip through and into the bedchamber, quickly shutting the door behind him. He turned to face her then, finding a smile adorning his own pale features at the sight of her.

What was it that always made him feel so much lighter and at ease when he was in her presence?

"What's the matter?" he asked, some instinct that he knew was entirely paternal alerting him to the fact that something may be wrong, although it was not odd at all for the girl to seek him out. With everything else that was going on at the moment, he supposed he was becoming a little bit paranoid, though he felt he had every right to be when it came to his fourteen year old daughter.

Fourteen…

She was growing up too fast for his liking.

"Nothing," she replied easily, taking a seat at the table, across from the chair he'd taken up residence in only a few moments ago. She watched him carefully as he retook his place, one of her elbows on the table, her hand cradling the side of her face. "I just wanted to talk to you for a while, that's all. You've been so…" she paused for a moment, looking for all intents and purposes as if she were about to point out his recent sullen mood, but thought better of it at the last second and finished with a cheeky, "busy lately," as she smiled knowingly.

"I'm sorry," he apologized automatically, feeling guilty again for having shut her out. She didn't deserve to be treated like that. "I never intended to make you feel left out."

"I understand," she said, her smile never leaving her face. "It's just that…" Again she paused, as if contemplating if she should risk bringing it up or not, though the prince could tell by the look on her face that she was just itching to talk about all the personal things that he would rather lock away. "I heard you and Yuuri arguing the other night," she eventually completed her thought.

Wolfram winced, wondering how that particular argument had sounded to her, with her room on the same hall as his and Yuuri's. The walls of the palace were thick, but it wouldn't have been difficult at all for her to overhear when he and the black haired man had been shouting in the hallway. "I didn't mean for you to hear that," he told her as he felt his cheeks begin to heat up. Physically she was almost as mature as he was, and yet he still couldn't help but think of her as a young, naïve, innocent little girl.

"I know," was her simple reply, her smile lifting even more in amusement. It was obvious that she found his embarrassment entertaining.

"I hope you're not upset that he and I are…"

"No, not really." Her rich brown curls shifted about her face and over her shoulders as she shook her head, speaking of such things with a cheerfulness that her other father wouldn't have been able to keep up while having this sort of conversation. "I mean, I'm a little upset," she amended, though looking at her at that moment, it was hard to tell, "but only because _you_ are."

"I'm not-" he was about to deny it, but she immediately cut him off.

"Don't lie. It's more than obvious, what with the way you've locked yourself in your room and all. You don't exactly try to hide it." She giggled at the look of chagrin that crossed his face, and while her good humor was usually uplifting, he couldn't help but feel somewhat affronted. "We all know how much you care about Yuuri."

Wolfram found himself blushing even more, wondering if she knew the depth of his feelings or not, or if she was merely drawing her own conclusions. "I can't believe you're talking to me about something like this," he ended up saying, a little exasperated. Just four years ago he'd been reading her bedtime stories, and now here she was, starting a serious discussion with him about his relationship with her other father.

"Why?" Greta wondered, lifting a dark eyebrow. "Because I'm your daughter? _Please_!" she said with an annoyed sigh. "I'm not a little girl anymore," the brown haired girl made sure to point out.

The blond prince flinched, not having meant to be so obvious in his thought concerning the younger girl. He didn't think he'd ever get used to human aging, or the thought of her reaching her full potential in growth before he did. He could hardly believe that the little girl who used to sit on his knee and beg him to read her one of Anissina's children's novels was now practically a young woman, coming into her own and no longer needing her parents as much as she once had.

"I'm sorry," she lamented, noting his sudden hurt expression, although her next statement reassured him that she wasn't completely sure what had caused it to form. "I mean, about Yuuri and everything…"

"You don't have to apologize," he made sure to reassure her, not wanting her to feel bad or guilty about something that had absolutely nothing to do with her. "It's not something you can change, and it doesn't have anything to do with you."

"I know that. It's Yuuri's who's got the problem," she said simply. "He's just being stupid."

"Greta…" he said in warning, giving her a critical gaze, though it didn't last long before it evened out. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

"No!!" he immediately denied, confusing himself. Hadn't he just been thinking that very thing before she'd come to take his mind off of it? Why was he suddenly defending the absent boy? "Yuuri's confused. He's not… he's not used to this," he explained, though he refused to elaborate on what 'this' was. Part of him was sure she already knew. "It's my fault for being selfish and trying to push him."

Only then did he begin to feel his anger seep out of him, leaving him feeling like a fool. How could he be angry at Yuuri for being frightened and confused, when Yuuri had specifically informed him of his tangled feelings? He should have known that the black haired man would react that way to a simple, harmless kiss, and a part of him had. But he'd been hurt by Yuuri's abandonment, and he'd instinctively sought out to blame the source of that pain rather than thinking things over and searching for the truth of the matter.

He could have easily stopped it from happening. It had been his selfishness, his desire for some form of affection from the other boy that had lead him to allow it.

"But you're not pushing him," Greta's voice broke through his thoughts, reminding him that she was still there before he sunk too deeply into them. "You've done everything he's wanted without expecting anything in return. If it's anyone's fault, it's his."

"Greta…"

"What?" she asked, incensed by his patronizing tone of voice.

"You shouldn't talk about him like that. He's your father."

"So are you," she wasted no time in pointing out, removing her hand from the side of her face to cross her arms below the soft curves that had developed on her chest. "I love Yuuri, I really do, and I know I'm lucky to have him in my life, but I love you, too. You're just as much my father as he is, and I don't like to see you so sad all the time."

"I'll be fine," he reassured her, mentally kicking himself for upsetting her. She may be able to hide it behind her smiles and optimistic behavior, but he knew his and Yuuri's continuous misunderstandings were saddening her, if only because she wanted nothing more than to see her parents happy. "You don't have to worry about me."

The return of her smile was immediate, and he momentarily had to wonder which of the many people residing within the palace she took after most. "Someone has to look out for you when Yuuri's away," she told him, and to support this idea she gave a pointed look in the direction of his abandoned dinner. "You should eat that."

"It's cold now."

"It wouldn't be if you'd eaten it when you were supposed to," she admonished, dark brown eyes sparkling with renewed amusement. "Don't worry so much about Yuuri and start taking care of yourself. Things will turn out okay," she said with confidence. "He really does care for you."

"He cares about everyone," Wolfram made sure to point out, sounding - he was sure - a little bitter.

"That's true," Greta agreed with a slow nod. "But it's different with you."

He couldn't stop himself from becoming curious, even if having such a conversation with her made him feel a tad uneasy. He remembered Yuuri's mother telling him something similar not too long ago, and he unconsciously fiddled with the ring still adorning his finger. "How so?" he asked, arching one golden eyebrow.

"I don't know," his adopted daughter confessed with an easy shrug. "It's hard to explain, but it's in his eyes. There's _something_ there when he looks at you, even if he doesn't realize it himself."

Wolfram spared a moment before saying anything in return, looking at her seriously. "When did you grow up so much?" he wondered, and even though he'd been stressing over her maturity for a while now, only during moments like this did he truly realize how much she'd grown.

She smiled widely. "While you and Yuuri were busy dancing around one another all these years. A girl learns a lot when both of her parents are playing games with one another and everyone else is betting on their relationship."

The prince was about to deny what she'd said about 'playing games,' and had half a mind to remind her that his and Yuuri's relationship - or lack there of - was more serious than some child's game, but the later half of her statement caught his attention before he could formulate the words, and he found himself stuttering in surprise. "B-betting?!" he exclaimed, feeling as his face turned pink again.

Her reply was another smile. "You didn't notice?" she asked innocently, no doubt already aware of the answer.

"No!"

"It figures…"

"Why would anyone…" he sputtered, ready to strangle anyone and everyone who had the nerve to even think about betting on his relationship with Yuuri. "Who started this?!" he demanded, filled with ire.

"Doria, Sangria, and Lazania," Greta said in reply, highly entertained by his reaction. "At first it was just the three of them, but after a while everyone started placing bets." She giggled at his wrathful expression. "I think Yozak's made the most money so far; it's either him or Gisela."

"I swear, I'm gonna…"

"Don't be mad," the brown haired girl soothed. "We're only interested because we care."

He stopped himself from falling into an enraged tirade, slowly looking back at her as her most recent words sank in. "Wait! 'We?!'" he asked, as if he hadn't heard her correctly. When she nodded in return to his question, he found himself feeling more embarrassed than angry. "Have you been placing bets, too?!"

"Maybe…" she giggled, lifting a hand to shield the smile that continued to stretch across her pretty face.

"Greta!!"

"Don't worry!" She was laughing now, her twittering giggles turning into hearty chuckles. "I haven't lost much. I think I know my fathers well enough to know how things will eventually end up between them."

Wolfram was about to lecture her on how betting was not proper behavior for a princess, especially when she was betting on something so… treasonous. How dare anyone speculate on his and Yuuri's relationship? It was his and the king's business, no one else's, and he did not think it proper that the castle staff was using their situation as a way to deepen their pockets. Not to mention Yuuri and he were the king and - now, though he wasn't when all this started - the prince. What right did they have to be sticking their noses in their private lives?

He stopped himself, however, when he felt the distinct tickling of curiosity. He didn't want to show it - or even admit to it for that matter, since he had no desire to feed Greta's bad habit - but he was more interested to hear what his daughter had to say than he probably should have been.

"And what is it that you predict?" he asked her slowly, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms as he spoke nonchalantly, hoping it appeared as if he couldn't care less when, in truth, he was itching to find out. It was true that Great would know he and Yuuri better than the others; she was around them the most, after all. She was still young, but she was also amazingly perceptive. He could blame Anissina and Gisela for passing that specific trait on to her.

She smiled, a knowing smile that let him in on the fact that she was all too aware of his curiosity, and that it was probably taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to tease him about it. (_That_ trait was one he knew he could thank his mother for.) "That things will be settled by the middle of next year," she replied sweetly, her brown eyes twinkling.

Wolfram thought this over for a moment, before his lips pulled themselves down into a frown. "That's a very broad answer. Things being settled could mean just about anything."

"Exactly," she agreed with a nod. "Which means I won't lose."

His eyes widened at her reply. Her mischievousness had definitely been inherited from her demon grandmother.

The thought was more than a little frightening.

"Now," she continued when he chose to remain silent, "since we've finished discussing your disaster of a love life, how about you tell me about some of the handsome young men I met at the reception?"

He arched an eyebrow at this question, giving her a look filled with suspicion. Yes, she was most assuredly his mother's granddaughter. "There hasn't been much of a love life to make a disaster of," he made sure to point out, not sure he liked her making fun of him like that, "and I think it's far from appropriate for you to be pining after young men at your age." Not to mention the fact that he didn't even want to entertain the idea of her being involved with someone romantically, no matter how old she was. It was true that she was growing up quickly, but she was still his daughter. He was sure Yuuri would agree with him on this.

"Oh, come on! Please?" she begged, batting her long lashes at him, like that could somehow win him over - an act that usually worked, though he'd be damned if he'd admit it. "What do you think of Gadwin Liete?"

"The soldier from Mannheim?"

"Yeah. Doesn't he have the greatest smile?"

Part of him wondered why she was even talking to him about things of this nature. It certainly did not sit with him too well, and he couldn't help but think of how wrong this was. "Wait…" he paused, the other part of him catching up with the rest, and he froze instantaneously. "Gadwin?! He's older than I am!"

"So?"

"By thirty years!"

"I'll say it again: so?"

"He's older than Conrart!!"

Greta rolled her eyes with another one of her adolescent sighs. "And you're older than Yuuri," she simply pointed out, like that made everything all better.

"So?" he found himself repeating her previous question.

"By sixty-seven years."

"Sixty-six and a half," he replied defensively, grumbling over the fact that she'd been able to turn his words back on him, "I don't turn eighty-six until winter."

She looked at him expectantly.

"Alright!" he exclaimed, more than a little exasperated. "So there's a gap. That still doesn't change the fact that Yuuri is just as physically and mentally mature as I am. He looks my age… well, older," he amended, "and he acts my age, so for all intents and purposes, he _is_ my age and I am his. You, on the other hand, are fourteen years old. Gadwin is over a hundred."

"So you're saying I'll be old enough to be courted by him in a few years?"

"Absolutely not!" He squashed that thought right away, although something told him Greta wasn't really listening, and was merely egging him on simply to see what his reaction would be. "And we are no longer having this conversation!! You won't be eligible to be courted by anyone until you're sixteen anyway, so you've got a good-"

"Two years to wait!" she interrupted him, her smile appearing quite chipper.

Again he froze. Well now… what exactly was he supposed to do about this?

"Why are you talking to me about this?" he chose to ask her instead of further commenting on any of her possible future courtships.

"Well, I can't very well talk to Yuuri about it," she said as if it were obvious. And, in truth, it was. While neither Yuuri and Wolfram liked to think of their daughter as a grown woman ready to experience the joys and heartaches of adulthood, Yuuri was least likely to be able to talk with Greta about marriage and relationships calmly. Wolfram… well, Wolfram could be calm, there were just certain things he'd prefer not to know, much less think about. "And I figured you'd be a better judge than he is," she added with another smile. "But I can tell that just the idea is frightening you, so I'll drop it for now."

"Thank you," he expressed his appreciation with a relieved sigh.

"But Gadwin _is_ cute."

"Greta!!"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I won't say anything more."

Wolfram couldn't help but smile at her anyway. Talking to her always proved to be at least mildly entertaining, and it had truly been a while since he'd been able to spend any amount of quality time with her. The fact that she felt comfortable discussing such personal matters with him was also somewhat uplifting - that she loved him so much that she'd desire and treasure his opinion on matters concerning her life and future was a sure sign that he'd done at least a decent job in raising her (though he'd only done so from the age of ten).

He sat with her for a while longer, completely ignoring the half-empty plate between them and just listening to the sound of her voice, allowing her to talk about whatever she chose, her topics varying from court gossip to Anissina's latest invention, and from the little boy who'd been brought to the castle from Fane (whom she claimed was absolutely adorable) to the plans she'd made to see her friend Beatrice once things began to calm down as far as their enemies went. He found the action of just sitting and listening to her voice somewhat soothing, and he found himself smiling more in her presence now than he had all week.

It wasn't until the two of them decided to call it a night and climbed in to bed a few hours later that he realized the problems he had with Yuuri had nearly been forgotten, and the anger that he'd been carrying around for days had nearly left him completely.

**TBC...**


	13. Risquer

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Thirteen - Risquer - To Risk  
**

Yuuri was silent as he sat across from his older brother in one of the local fast food restaurants, not even looking up at him, though he knew it was only a matter of time before Shori tried to gain his attention. They'd arrived here only a few short moments ago, and after retrieving their food they'd searched for a secluded booth in one of the corners, not wanting to be bothered by the restaurant's other patrons.

Yuuri himself had arrived back on Earth three days ago, much to the surprise of his family, whom he'd seen only days before while returning them to their home. Of course his parents had wanted to know what would prompt him to return so soon, especially after witnessing the look on his face as he'd burst into the house, but Yuuri couldn't find the courage to tell them what exactly he was running from. He didn't want to talk about it, hardly wanted to think about what he'd done.

And yet it was the only thing he'd been able to think about as the last three days had gone by.

He went to bed every night only to dream of the kiss he'd stolen, and every time he awoke in the mornings he saw the hurt look that had appeared on Wolfram's face when he'd left in his mind. It plagued him constantly, his face burning with a mixture of shame and embarrassment as he remembered the moment he'd allowed himself to give into his curiosity. He hadn't put up much of a fight with himself when it had happened, and had given in without thinking better of the idea.

He'd kissed Wolfram.

Worse… he'd enjoyed it.

He'd spent the past few days thinking the whole thing over, trying to come up with something that would explain the event, only to become frustrated when he realized that there was nothing that could completely explain what he'd done, or why he'd left. Curiosity had caused it, and fear had led him to make his escape. Fear of Wolfram's reaction, fear of going further, fear of losing control, fear of the inexplicable pleasure he'd found in the simple act and, of course, fear of what that meant. He'd left before he could do anything else undeniably stupid, before he could screw things up further.

Now he had no clue as to what he was supposed to do next. He still hadn't sorted everything out, nor had he really come to accept anything. There was no denying what he'd done - although, at the start, he'd tried his hardest to pretend as if nothing had happened between them - just as there was no denying the fact that it hadn't bothered him in the least while it had been taking place. It was only after the kiss that his thoughts had changed, only when he'd given himself time to think, to realize that this was _Wolfram_ he'd just shared a semi-passionate lip-lock with that he was swept with the need to get away.

It made him a coward - he knew that. But he couldn't help it. There was no way he would have been able to sit down with Wolfram - or anyone else for that matter - and discuss it, not like they'd been speaking so seriously before. Nor could he have simply put it behind him and continued on with life, not with Wolfram there beside him, reminding him what he'd done with his presence alone. He'd needed this escape, this time to think it over, to come to terms with it, before he could go back and apologize.

But apologize for what? Certainly for leaving, for although he needed this time to himself, he knew Wolfram was undoubtedly hurt and angry that he'd run - not that he could blame the other boy. But to apologize for kissing him? Wolfram surely deserved it - Yuuri had used him to ease his own curiosities, after all, and although they were married he still didn't think it was right that he made him some sort of a tool to help in his task of self-discovery. He knew how Wolfram felt, what Wolfram wanted, and he'd knowingly used that to his advantage, aware all along that the blond wouldn't dream of pushing him away.

He was disgusted with himself, more so over the fact that he'd just used his friend than he was over the fact that he'd kissed him. He'd sooner choose to kiss Wolfram, hug him, hold him, clutch tightly to his hand - anything the other boy wanted from him - than hurt him. After the kiss they'd shared in front of their guests at the wedding, he didn't think it mattered much anymore if their lips happened to brush together, so long as it was done for the right reasons. Comfort, he thought, was a just purpose, not inquisitiveness, not his desire to learn and discover the truth. It wouldn't be fair to Wolfram if things turned out differently than he wanted.

But then, thinking that, setting those sorts of standards, did that mean he _wanted_ to kiss the other boy again?

He didn't know, nor did he think it would be so simple to find the answer (though it wasn't as if any of the answers he was searching for were so easily discovered). He knew that he wanted his friendship with Wolfram to remain in tact, knew that he treasured the closeness between them, the sense of belonging he felt as they spoke to one another about all the random and mundane things in their lives. He appreciated Wolfram's compassion, his willingness to follow him despite the hesitance recently being displayed by the others. He wanted to protect the blond haired boy as he knew Wolfram would always protect him.

He liked things the way they were now. He didn't want things to become more hazardous and confusing than they already were.

He hardly even noticed his brother sitting across from him as the memories swept over him again, though he was all too aware of Shori's presence; he simply didn't see him, too focused on things he thought were far more important. Shori had been good about leaving him to himself since he'd first arrived, but from the serious looks he'd been receiving early that morning, Yuuri had known that his older brother wasn't going to leave him alone for very long. He hadn't been surprised at all when the taller man had expressed his desire to go out, and had followed after him as the earthen demon king had lead him down the street and further into town.

Now Shori was staring at him intently, as if trying to figure out what was bothering him on his own. Black eyes stared at the younger man through the lenses of his glasses, though Yuuri couldn't find the courage to look back at him, scared of what his own eyes may reveal should he stare into the wise gaze of his perceptive, over-protective brother, who knew him better than Yuuri could admit to knowing the other man. There was curiosity in his gaze, but that interest could not compare to the worry that was emanating from Shori in waves, a near physically force that almost had Yuuri confessing everything to him if only to ease it's oppressing weight.

"I was right, wasn't I?" the older Shibuya wondered after they'd both nearly finished their food, his quiet voice betraying his concern, though he kept his facial expression as passive as he possibly could.

Yuuri was tempted not to answer him for a moment, to simply look away and continue drowning himself in his sullen mood, and although he managed to keep from looking at his brother, he couldn't prevent himself from supplying him with an answer, vague as it was. "I don't know what you mean."

Shori released a light sigh, leaning back into the booth they sat within as he crossed his arms over his chest. "About the wedding," he quickly elaborated, staring at the shorter man closely as he waited for his reply.

The younger double black remained quiet for a few seconds, thinking back over the last few conversations he'd had with his brother, and he easily remembered the argument they'd found themselves drawn into at the dinner table just a couple of weeks ago. He shook his head, feeling the familiar flame of anger burning within him as he recalled all that Shori had said that night, the doubts he had, and the thoughts he possessed of his demon friends.

"No, you weren't right," he couldn't help but snap, thinking that the actual reasons for the wedding - whether they were as Gwendal and Gunter had stated or as Shori suspected - were actually the furthest things from his mind at the moment. "Me being here has nothing to do with Cimaron or the fighting that's going on right now."

"Then why _are_ you here?" Shori wondered, not changing his position as he continued to lounge in the cushioned chair. "What had you looking so scared when you appeared here so suddenly? And don't tell me it was nothing."

Yuuri merely shook his head again, an image of his blond haired friend coming to mind at Shori's inquiry. How was he supposed to tell his brother what had happened? He could hardly explain it himself, not the 'how's or the 'why's, or what he was going to do to fix everything - or even if there was anything he could do to fix everything. Would Shori even understand if he told him? Would he show some compassion, or would he go on being as suspecting and distrusting as he'd been since he'd told he and his family of the wedding and the reasons behind it.

He wanted to tell him. Though he didn't want to think about it any more than he already had in an effort to not become so confused again, and though he didn't really feel like voicing the newest of his many problems, he found that he desired Shori's opinion on the matter. His older brother was infinitely more intelligent than he, and though the man had teased him throughout his life - as all older brother's would tease their younger siblings - he knew that Shori wouldn't deny him his advice and guidance should he ask for it. Shori may not have a straight answer for him, but surely the man wouldn't push him away.

"It's Wolfram," the younger king finally answered him, finding that he had to spit the words out, and when he did he wouldn't have been surprised if Shori had been unable to hear him, his voice had been so soft. Just saying it made him feel self-conscious, like everyone in the building had turned to stare at him, like they knew what was causing him such turmoil: in truth, the other patrons hardly seemed to care about the two brothers secluding themselves in the corner.

"Ah," Shori made a noise that suggested he'd thought that would be the problem if it weren't Cimaron. There weren't many other things that usually bothered Yuuri, after all, so he supposed it was a bit predictable. "Your wife."

Yuuri's head shot up at that, eyes narrowing at the slight amusement he caught in his brother's voice. "He's not my wife!" he snapped, not appreciating Shori's little joke at all. "He's my…" he caught himself, realizing what he was about to say and not feeling comfortable with it quite yet, at least not comfortable enough to say it aloud in a public place on Earth. "He's my friend."

"That's all?" the older man wondered with one eyebrow raised in question. "I could have sworn we were just at your wedding a week ago," he stated casually. "I suppose he's more than a friend to you now."

Yuuri frowned, giving his brother a level stare. "You know why we got married," he said.

Shori uncrossed his arms long enough to wave one of his hands dismissively, as if the reasoning behind it no longer mattered, and just the fact that they were now wed meant that things had changed drastically in their relationship - and inwardly some small part of Yuuri admitted that he was correct. "For the kingdom," the older king supplied, then shot Yuuri a meaningful look. "Or at least that's what everyone wants you to believe," he added, and the slighter man was about to cut him off in order to defend his friends again, when Shori said, "including yourself."

This had Yuuri stopping to think for a moment, not understanding why Shori would say something like that. He narrowed his eyes in confusion, glaring at the man across from him as he caused his thoughts to spin even more. "What?"

"A simpler solution to your problem would have been to appoint him as your heir, if everyone's really so concerned about you suddenly dying on them and Greta being unable to take your place," Shori explained, going back to his suspicions of his younger brother's compatriots. "But your von Voltaire friend had other ideas. He wanted Wolfram to be more than a simple heir. I wonder why that is." He didn't sound curious at all; he'd said it more as a way to get Yuuri to start thinking about it on his own.

The younger Shibuya didn't even spare it a thought. "I don't know what you're getting at. And I don't appreciate the fact that you continuously question their honor," he told him, some of his anger showing through in his voice. "I don't know what makes you think they're plotting something behind my back, but your suspicions aren't worth anything."

Or at least that's what he was desperately trying to convince himself of. He had to admit that he was beginning to have his own doubts, though he'd be damned if he gave into them, wanting to trust in the friends who'd never before given him any reason to doubt them. But the fact that Gwendal and Murata had so recently begun to stray away from him was beginning to cause him to have some suspicions of his own, though he still had no clue what Wolfram had to do with anything. For what other reason would they want Wolfram in a position of power if not to benefit the kingdom?

"What about you then?" Shori wondered, distracting him from his thoughts yet again.

Yuuri's look of curiosity was back, not understanding his brother's questioning. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Why did you marry Wolfram?"

The younger double black winced, knowing how awful his answer must sound in the ears of others, how much it would hurt Wolfram to hear them tumble out of his mouth. "For the kingdom." He cringed further after he said it, realizing for the first time since Gwendal, Gunter, and Murata had come to him with the idea that, regardless of the fact that he didn't want to turn Wolfram into some sort of tool, he had done so without even knowing it. Marrying him for a reason besides love had made sure of that.

"_I don't think of you as a tool!"_ he remembered telling the other boy, and though he'd meant it he only now realized that it didn't matter what he thought of him. He'd abused his feelings for him and turned the blond into a pawn anyway.

"Are you sure that's all there is to it?" Shori wondered then, noticing the guilt on his face, the disgusted look in his eyes, the way his younger brother's face had drawn down with his sudden comprehension. "You might want to consider the idea that some part of you wanted to marry him," he offered, watching as Yuuri looked back up at him, black eyes widened in surprise at his comment, bafflement replacing shame and distaste. "I've never known you to do something you absolutely don't want to do. You'd sooner find another solution than give in so easily," he added.

Yuuri remained silent for a long moment, allowing himself some time to think his older sibling's statement over. He'd been doing a lot of thinking recently, trying to come up with his own answers and solutions rather than waiting for them to make themselves known as he had in his youth - when he'd lived by the moment and worried about the consequences of his actions later. Only now was he beginning to discover the errors he'd made, how his better judgment had been blinded by his desire to protect and serve the people. Thinking back on it all, there were a lot of things he wished he could have changed.

But to think that he could have actually wanted the wedding for some other purpose than to ensure the kingdom's future… while it was true that he wanted to stay with Wolfram, for the other boy to be by his side as he had been so faithfully over the last four years, he couldn't say that that had affected his decision at all. He didn't see how that could have incited him to accept the marriage so easily. He wanted to do what was best for his country, make certain that his people would be well taken care of in his absence. He wanted to make Wolfram happy as well, it was true, but that hadn't been his first priority when accepting his advisers' proposal.

Only when he'd seen how upset his decisions and actions had made his fiancé had he desired to do something to change the way Wolfram was feeling. Only when he'd witnessed his hidden vulnerability had he been hit with the urge to protect him, to keep him close and try everything in his power to bring a smile to his face. Only when he'd realized how much Wolfram truly loved him did he begin to feel the desire to keep that love for himself, to bask in its warmth and accept it as a source of comfort. There wasn't anything he wanted more than Wolfram's love; it provided him with a sense of security he'd found in little else.

"Are you attracted to him?" was Shori's next question, asked so suddenly that Yuuri nearly choked on his own saliva, surprised by the words currently being directed towards him.

Black eyes glanced down at the table top, barely noticing the half-eaten food that sat before him, the fries and burger long gone cold. "No," he said quietly, his voice returning to the softness that had impaired it when this conversation had first begun.

Yes, he cared for Wolfram. Yes, he wanted to keep him safe. Yes, he wanted to remain by him for as long as he possibly could, wanted the fondness and compassion Wolfram was so willing to offer him, but he couldn't see how that would lead him to feel any sort of an attraction besides an emotional one. Though he'd never knowingly felt such a thing, Yuuri knew that affection was completely different from physical attraction.

"Look me in the eye and answer the question honestly," the older man demanded, patiently waiting for his younger brother to follow his orders. When he did, he voiced the inquiry again. "Are you attracted to him?"

Yuuri felt his face heat up with a light blush, and he found it very hard to look the older king in the eye at that moment, and it was only stubbornness that kept him from looking away, wanting to prove to his brother that he could be just as much of a man as he was. The answer was right at the tip of his tongue, a repeated 'no,' but he found himself unable to say anything for more than a few seconds, his mind racing in so many directions at once it was hard to keep track of everything. He didn't even realize what came out of his mouth until he heard it with his own ears.

"I don't know."

'_I don't know,'_ he realized, because he'd never given it so much thought before. He'd been so busy denying the engagement, trying to come up with reasons to break it off, ways to end it without losing Wolfram's friendship, that he hadn't stopped to find out if he was attracted to the blond haired demon. But then he'd never been attracted to anyone before, not to the point where he'd seriously contemplated dating them. Admitting that someone was cute or pretty was completely different than being attracted to them, of that he was certain.

'_But Wolfram's a boy,'_ he reminded himself, the prejudices that were found on earth having heavily influenced his thought process. '_I shouldn't even think about him like that. It's not possible that I would be…'_ and the thought trailed off before it could even finish, sounding weak in his own mind. It was entirely possible, he knew. If he hadn't ever felt attraction towards someone before, then he really couldn't discount anyone, be they male or female. It was just as possible for him to like boys as it was for him to like girls. The only thing that could stop him was denial. Otherwise, it could go either way.

What traits did he consider to be attractive in a person? With the position he was in as king, he knew that anyone he formed any sort of relationship with had to be willing to make sacrifices, and though he strove for unending peace, worst case scenarios had to be taken into account and prepared for properly so that each individual was ready to handle his or her responsibilities. He wanted someone who was compassionate, someone whom he could trust above all others, but at the same time someone who could take care of themselves. He didn't want someone who was completely dependent on him for support, considering all the dangers that came with his duty.

As for physical appearances, he'd never really given it much thought before. In his youth he'd always imagined himself marrying a pretty Japanese girl with the typical dark hair and eyes, and that whatever children they ended up having would be the same way. He'd never once stopped to compare, to think if he found certain colorings more attractive than others. He'd never even took the time to look at girls and find out what he considered 'pretty.' Everyone had different notions on what it meant to be 'pretty,' and he'd never once taken even a minute to discover his own thoughts on the matter.

Looking around the restaurant now, Yuuri spared a glance at each of the female patrons. Most of them were school girls, their uniforms separating them from young college women and the working class. They had their hair pulled up or let down in various styles, none of which he thought were exceptionally impressive. Most of them seemed to be trying to imitate current trends, as was usual with adolescents of any time period he supposed, their uniforms altered where it would allow in order to make them appear hip and cool.

Yuuri had never really cared much for fashion trends and popular culture. When he wasn't in his uniform, he preferred his baseball jersey or jeans and a t-shirt over anything else. He didn't understand what was so cool about the girls wearing baggy socks or others bleaching their hair or dying it various colors. He supposed he'd look rather plain standing next to a good majority of them, with his thick black hair reaching his shoulders and his clothing that was neither a size too small nor a size too large. The only time he ever wore anything excessively elaborate was in instances when duty called for such an appearance, and the only time he ever did anything special to his hair was when he was in disguise.

Glancing around at all the artificial coloring and the plethora of meaningless accessories - the multiple earrings, other facial piercings, and the extreme amounts of bangles the girls had jingling along their arms - Yuuri found that he saw such things as rather petty, and he realized that he preferred a more natural sort of beauty, not one created through caked-on makeup and a trendy wardrobe. The most attractive person he saw in the restaurant was a girl who was probably around the age of fifteen or sixteen, her dark hair split into two braids and glasses aiding her in the task of vision as she sat in the opposite corner by herself, reading a book as she munched on some fries.

He took her image in, stared at her for a while, and then thought of his friend back in the Great Demon Kingdom, and there really wasn't much of a competition at all, at least in appearance (he didn't know the girl, so he couldn't very well compare their personalities). Wolfram was gorgeous - Yuuri would admit to that without any prodding or provocation at all, and while the girl in the corner was indeed very pretty, there was nothing about her that made her stand out. She was your typical Asian girl, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a complexion darker than that of a westerner. Wolfram, when Yuuri thought of him in Earthen terms, was distinctively European.

The dark haired boy had met his fair share of westerners in his life - there had been a few exchange students in his classes, and he'd been asked for directions from tourists more than once in his nineteen years, but even comparing them to his temperamental fiancé - '_Husband,'_ he reminded himself with another wince, '_husband.'_ - was a bit difficult. Wolfram certainly stood out in a crowd, no matter where he was, his looks needing to be concealed almost as much as Yuuri's did when they traveled in human lands - both due to his uncanny resemblance to the former demon queen, and to the ethereal sort of beauty found only among the demon tribe.

His skin was pale, nearly white, and soft to the touch, with hardly a scar in sight; and, in fact, Yuuri couldn't readily remember ever seeing any, compared to Conrad, who had scars all along his torso from the numerous battles he'd been in, before, during, and after the previous war. Wolfram's hair was golden blond, not nearly as curly as Lady Celi's tight ringlets, but enough to give a decidedly boyish quality to his appearance. His green eyes were large and expressive, framed by the kind of long lashes that girls used so much mascara to achieve, and the delicate features of his face were perfectly proportioned, each fine bone serving to make him seem years younger than he really was.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person Yuuri had ever met, both in this world as well as in the Great Demon Kingdom. Even Lady Celi paled in comparison, for although they looked almost identical, there was something about Wolfram that allowed him to outshine his own mother. Yuuri had seen the effects more than once before; demon women swooned in his presence, human women glared in jealousy, and men of both races looked on with longing. He'd been witness to the numerous pairs of eyes that followed his friend around, taking in his every move, glancing over his slender frame as if to sear the image into their minds.

"Are you attracted to him?" he heard Shori asking him again, though he had no idea if he'd repeated the question or if he was merely hearing the older man's voice in his mind as he imagined the young man who was no doubt waiting for him back at the castle.

Always waiting…

"I don't know," Yuuri said in response, the second time he heard those words slip through his mouth. "Part of me says I shouldn't be," he elaborated this time, turning his attention back to the man who continued to sit patiently across from him. "He's a boy - it keeps reminding me - he's my friend. It would be dangerous to get involved with him."

Although, now that he was putting some serious thought into it, he realized - with a mixture of dread and, indeed, curiosity - that there was something inside that appealed to the idea of 'getting involved' with Wolfram. It was an unfamiliar feeling, almost like an ache, that he'd felt only a few times before. It was what lead him to allow the new physical contact that had recently taken place between the two of them, what made having Wolfram rest against him and put his arms around him seem so soothing. And it was that ache, that itch inside, that had inevitably lead him to seal their lips together in a sudden, unexpected kiss. It was the same feeling he had when he desired to see the blond prince smile.

"Dangerous how?" his older brother went on with the questioning, seeming not to realize the uncertain path his thoughts had recently begun to take, either that or he wanted to continue leading them in this new direction, perhaps as a way to help the younger king sort his problems out.

"I don't know," Yuuri said again, shaking his head in a manner that made him seem a little unsettled. "It's just…" he paused, momentarily thinking of how he wanted to word his next phrase. "It's just this feeling I have. Things'll change too much, become too complicated. Something'll happen and…" he paused, seeming to not know what that 'something' was, nor what it would cause. "I just know that I can't, but then there's another part of me that…"

"That what?" Shori prodded, arching one of his dark eyebrows.

Yuuri blushed, his cheeks heating to a deep crimson. "That… well… I mean…" he stuttered for a few seconds, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. "I mean… you've seen him. He's _beautiful_, and he's _there_… _all_ the time! But I haven't… I've never looked at him like _that_ before."

"But are you attracted to him?"

"Of course he's attractive. I just said he's beautiful!"

"That wasn't my question," the king of Earth pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest once more. "It's completely different to _think_ he's attractive than it is to be attracted _to_ him."

The younger brother frowned lightly, furrowing his brows as he tried to think of his best friend in more than platonic terms. "He's a boy," were the words that came out then, an unconscious reaction to the thought of forming a deeper relationship with Wolfram than the one they already shared. To be honest, Wolfram's sex hardly bothered him anymore. It was more the concept of committing himself to him, to caring _that_ much that scared him now.

"So?" Shori wondered, seeming slightly confused.

"It's… it wouldn't be right," Yuuri continued with the same lame excuses he'd worn out years ago. "I don't know if I'm… I mean, I know I'm not…"

The older male sighed heavily, causing his brother to look back up at him, cocking his head to the side at the Earthen king's actions. "You're making things too complicated," Shori told him with a shake of his head, finding it hard to believe that Yuuri was still hung up on the issue of his spouse's gender.

"What do you mean?" the younger double black asked, a look of slight surprise creeping across his face.

"I mean you're thinking about this too much," Shori explained. "It doesn't matter if he's a boy or a girl. What matters is if you're attracted to him or not, not what everyone else will think if you are. Who cares what they think?" he questioned rhetorically, making a motion with his head to indicate the rest of the people around them. "They don't know you, they don't know him. What they think doesn't matter."

"But it does," Yuuri said quietly, guiltily, looking back down at the table top.

"Does it? Do you honestly care what they think of you?"

It would have been so easy to say 'yes,' to make the root of his problems seem like nothing more than petty homophobia, when he knew the real answer was something much different. He'd been raised by his parents to treat everyone as equals, to hold no prejudices no matter what race, gender, ethnic background, or sexual orientation. His mother had taught he and Shori tolerance and compassion the same way others taught their children about God. But it had always been easier to blame his insecurities on homophobia, on a different sort of fear than the one that truthfully kept him from accepting any form of attraction he felt for anyone.

"… No…" he finally answered, his voice still quiet, and he wouldn't have been surprised at all if it had gone unheard.

"Then what's holding you back?" Shori asked then, proving to the younger man that he had, indeed, heard him. When Yuuri didn't answer, Shori leaned forward over the table, lowering his voice to a near whisper as well, though he was sure those around them could care less about the conversation going on between the two brothers. "Is it fear?" he wondered, watching as Yuuri flinched lightly. "Are you afraid of committing yourself to someone?"

"I have a whole kingdom to worry about," the king of the Great Demon Kingdom said, though he knew now that he was merely making more excuses. "I can't make one person more important than all the rest. It wouldn't be right."

"And focusing all your attention solely on the kingdom will turn you into an obsessive freak. You're denying yourself something because you're worried about your attention straying away from your people?" Shori shook his head in what appeared to be disapproval. "I think your confusion is doing more damage in that respect than any relationship you may have with Wolfram ever would."

Yuuri's head snapped up at that, a stricken look marring his visage as he took in his brother's words. He knew the kingdom was in a bad way at the moment, nearly cornered by Cimaron and it's allies, but he hadn't thought his personal dilemma was having an affect on that issue. Though, when he took the time to think about it… his running away certainly wouldn't have the most positive outcome as far as their political situation was concerned.

"I don't want him to get hurt," he said then.

Shori snorted, then replied with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "You're doing a fine job of seeing that that doesn't happen."

"_I_ don't want to hurt him."

"And what makes you so sure that you will?"

Yuuri frowned, easily remembering the night he'd been informed of Fane's decimation, how he'd snapped at both Murata and Wolfram, could recall the bruises that had been left on the blond's pale shoulders. He hadn't meant to do it, hadn't even thought of it at the time that he'd been speaking to his friend, but that didn't change the fact that it had happened. "There's something wrong with me," he replied, allowing his uncertainty to show through in his voice and on his face again. "There's always been something wrong with me, and I've only recently begun to realize that… that it's a problem. My anger," he said, "it gets out of hand. What if I-"

"I think your little wife is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I highly doubt he'd just sit back and allow you to mistreat him. He definitely isn't the kind of person who'd put up with something like that," Shori said in return, somewhat surprised when the younger man didn't automatically snap at him for referring to Wolfram as his 'wife' again. It was a sure sign that Yuuri was thinking, and thinking hard, which the older Shibuya thought was a good thing. "As for this anger issue, if you'd take some time to cool off maybe you wouldn't have such a problem. If you keep focusing on the source of your anger, then there isn't much you can do to get rid of it."

"I don't think it's that simple."

Shori released another sigh, almost annoyed by his younger brother's unwillingness to let everything go. Did the boy always have to come up with some sort of an excuse or argument? "Stop analyzing everything. I understand that you're afraid, but you shouldn't let that stop you," he said, then suggested, "I can give you all sorts of reassurances, but I doubt they'd help much. Why don't you give this thing with Wolfram a chance before coming to any sort of decision on whether it's the right thing to do or not?"

"Because then I'd be using him to satisfy my own curiosities," Yuuri provided him with what he thought was a better argument than the ones he'd previously been giving.

"You've got to find out someway. You can't just sit around denying that you feel anything your whole life when you never even tried." He paused, giving his younger brother a serious look, before continuing without regard to what his reaction would be. "What's worse, using him in order to ease your curiosity and figure out what you do or don't want, or remaining confused for the rest of your life and losing any relationship you may have been able to have with him?"

Yuuri was about to answer, "using him," but stopped himself and clamped his mouth shut before he could say anything, knowing that question was one he was meant to think about. He'd already gone over it in his head, how he wanted nothing less than to turn his friend into a tool, but he had to admit that a part of him thought it would be worse to never even give Wolfram a chance, to continue on with life as it was now, constantly avoiding the whole situation. He may not want to use Wolfram, but then he may never know how he felt about the boy, he may never understand that ache that had lead him to kiss him in the first place.

He wanted to know. He wanted to find out, wanted to see if all the answers lied with his blond haired friend. There was only so much that he could accomplish by thinking things over. Everything else would have to be discovered through actions. He couldn't find out if he liked kissing Wolfram if he never allowed himself to kiss him, would never know what a relationship between them would be like, feel like, if he never allowed more than the occasional hug.

Either way he'd feel guilty. Guilty for using Wolfram, or guilty for pushing him away. Neither sounded very appealing to him.

But if this helped, if this had the potential to end positively…

He had to try, no matter how it made him feel.

* * *

Murata Ken sighed deeply to himself as he stood within the empty chamber that had once housed the Original King's soul, blankly staring through the lenses of his glasses at the wall before him, his dark eyes slowly glancing up at the crest on the wall where the Great One's soul had once been contained. He'd come here a few hours ago, needing some time away from the hustle and bustle of castle life so that he was able to peacefully collect his thoughts. Ulrike was not currently present, knowing him well enough to easily be able to tell when he'd rather be alone and when he needed an ear to voice his frustrations to.

The dim room was shrouded in silence, save for the light trickling of water, a noise he'd grown so used to hearing it hardly phased him anymore. He was in his spot before the platform, the very spot he'd taken up many times before when conversing with his old friend, finding that sticking to his old routine, no matter how futile it was now, provided some small bit of comfort. It was as if things were back to how they used to be, before the world began to spiral out of control and things began to change far too quickly for his liking.

The Palace of the Original King had always been a sanctuary to him. He was the only man allowed to come and go without constantly needing the permission of the shrine maidens, and it was here that he had resided until the Great One's true demise three years ago. He felt more at home here than anywhere else in the kingdom, more so even than he did at Blood Pledge Castle, for it was here that he felt his connection with the Great One was at it's strongest. He'd spent so much time between these walls that it felt strange now to be living under a completely different roof.

He'd chosen to move into Blood Pledge soon after he and Shibuya had made their surprise return, hoping that in doing so the memories of his many past lives would begin to ease. It had worked for a while, and he'd been able to go about this new life as normally as he could, seeing to the duties Shibuya gave him and trying to put those four-thousand years behind him. He was Murata Ken now, still the Great Sage, but not the same person he'd been when the boxes had been created and the darkness sealed inside. He was a growing man; far different than the somber adviser he'd been to the fickle first king.

He'd grown, he'd matured, and he'd aged. He'd made friends and stared down enemies, had made more good memories in this life than he could remember making in any of his lives before. He felt free, despite having such a powerful soul trapped within a powerless human body. With Shibuya as king there had hardly been anything to worry about. He'd been able to maintain the carefree nature he'd been unable to keep so many times before, the mental strain of so many memories easing with each good turn his current life took. He'd found happiness for the first time in over a millennia, knew now what it felt like to truly be at peace with himself and his role in the world.

Shibuya had been the key to that.

It was truly ironic, then, how the cause of this world's happiness could also be the cause of its pain. He hated to admit to his anger, because, in truth, he could see the demon king's reasoning, could understand his hesitance and concern, but he could also see how much damage Shibuya's unwillingness was doing, to their people, to their land, and to everything they'd built over the last four years. It was disconcerting to the bespectacled man that he and the king were having such misunderstandings, and he honestly had no clue as to how to deal with this personal issue. Shibuya was the first real friend he'd had in a long time, so it was difficult to remember how to go about solving these sorts of problems.

He'd come here seeking answers, though he knew little would be learned simply by staring at a stone wall with the only background noise being the trickling of water, but he'd run out of other alternatives. Blood Pledge was too loud a place for him to think; there was hardly a silent moment with maids constantly coming and going, guards patrolling the halls, and the plethora of nobles still taking residence under the roof arguing nearly all the time. He'd made a similar escape to the one Shibuya had, going to the place he felt most comfortable in order to calm down and sort everything out in relative peace.

Things were becoming too unpredictable for his liking. Usually he prided himself on his ability to at least sense what was about to happen in the near future. Because of his human body, his magic lay dormant, but even in rest it still served some small purpose, his intuition greatly increased, allowing him to predict through a heightened sense what others would not be able to see until it smacked them right in the face. It was a feeling he had in his subconscious, a tingle in the back of his mind. In his first life as Great Sage, he'd been closely attuned with the living world and it's workings, so he supposed some of that had carried over through each of his new lives.

Recently, however, things had become harder to sense. Perhaps it was because his powers were dwindling, his human body failing around him far faster than it would have had he been born demon, or even half. Perhaps, also, it was a result of the Great One's passing. He no longer had that voice warning him with it's little riddles, cluing him in on how the Original King planned to direct the paths of those under his control. He was left to make guesses on his own, and it was strangely unnerving. He, like Shibuya, didn't enjoy being left in the dark, but it seemed as if that's where he'd been quite a bit recently.

Certain things had been fairly simple to foretell, such as Cimaron's continued rebellion, Belar's quest for power and domination, and the humans' discontent and distrust. He'd been quite certain that there would eventually be another war, so things such as that were simple to anticipate. Peace could only last for so long, after all, and though the hatred between the demon tribe and humans had lessened over the years, it had not been eradicated completely. Added to that a few power-hungry men and it was only obvious that warfare would one day ensue.

What he had not been able to predict was the royal wedding. It had come as a slight surprise to him when Lords von Voltaire and von Christ had suggested it to him before bringing their idea to the attention of the king, and although the Sage had agreed with their reasoning, it had struck him as odd how they would choose now of all times to worry about such things, when they could have just as easily brought it up in the three years that had gone by since the Great One's end. Nor had Murata been able to predict that the Aristocrats would vote unanimously. He'd been almost certain that Bielefeld, Mannheim, Yale and Grantz would pose some form of opposition.

Now he thought he understood. It had taken him a while to figure out, but he'd come to realize the true meaning behind their ruling, the reality behind Gwendal and Gunter's plan. None of them had told him, perhaps fearing that he would voice some sort of an objection and inform Shibuya of their little plot, but he had no such intentions. Secretly he agreed with their desire to go to war. He did not wish for it as heatedly as they did, but he knew that it was truthfully the only way for them to save their kingdom at this point, especially with the threat of their most recent enemy looming over them - which he had also failed to foresee.

He didn't exactly approve of Lord von Voltaire's methods, but it wasn't his place to intervene. He'd noticed the turmoil between the three brothers when he'd first arrived in this world, and had watched it shift and change as the years wore on. Von Bielefeld had denied Lord Weller as his sibling, only to now accept his presence and even seek a form of comfort from it, while von Voltaire was now the one straying away, focusing more on his duty than he ever had before now that things were cooling down between the younger two. They were most definitely a unique trio, one he enjoyed watching immensely, but their familial issues were now forming a new set of problems, ones he feared would have effects more adverse than the ones caused by the split between von Bielefeld and Weller.

Add to that Shibuya's current fear and confusion, and a whole new mess was slowly being formed right before his eyes. He had confidence in the king and his subjects, but he didn't know how long the kingdom could last before they finally realized what they were doing to themselves and to the country they ruled and protected.

The sound of the door creaking open broke Murata from his thoughts, and he spared one last long look at the crest on he wall before turning to see who had disturbed his moment of silence. His dark eyes widened a fraction when he saw not Ulrike or one of the other temple maidens, but Prince von Bielefeld's childhood friend, the beautiful Lady Elizabeth.

Murata had, unfortunately, not been able to meet with the lady the first time she'd visited the castle, feigning interest in the king in order to get close to Shibuya's fiancé, although the Sage had heard of the events that had proceeded her arrival and found great fun in bringing up such stories in Shibuya's presence. Since then, he'd met her a few times, but never before had they spoken to one another privately, Elizabeth choosing to spend most of her time with Prince Wolfram, Princess Greta, and Lady Cecilie. To have her coming to him now was a bit of a pleasant surprise, and he immediately forgot his desire for solitude.

Who was he to refuse a pretty lady, after all?

"Your Eminence," she greeted him with a shallow curtsy, a few strands of her long, dirty blond hair falling over one of her shoulders, amethyst eyes curiously looking about the room.

"Lady Elizabeth," he nodded in return, forcing his pleased smirk off of his face, turning back to face the wall once she'd arrived by his side.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't stop the corner of his lips from twitching ever so slightly. She really was a beautiful woman, as he'd heard Shibuya exclaim the first time the king had told him about the girl. She did, however, hide a violent side beneath her innocent looks, her skills with a sword greatly surpassing those of most men, an equal match to the boy she'd spent her youth with. Her delicate looks were truly deceiving, as she was a young woman fully capable of taking care of herself; and though she'd once convinced herself that she was in love with the young von Bielefeld, she was not the kind of woman who needed a man to keep her happy.

The women in this world were truly refreshing, a sight for sore eyes really, as so many of the girls on Earth spent their time pining after men who wouldn't treat them right instead of growing into self-sufficient, independent young ladies.

"Not many people come in here anymore, or so I've heard," Elizabeth said offhandedly, staring at the wall ahead of them as well, her hands clasped demurely before her, concealing her true strength behind girlish tendencies much the same way the previous queen did. "Usually this room is only graced by people when the yearly ceremonies arise."

"There isn't much reason to come here," Murata said in reply, turning again to openly look at her, somewhat curious over her arrival, despite his initial pleasure.

"So, then, may I ask what's brought you here?" she wondered politely.

"It gives me some time to think in peace," he answered her honestly, seeing no threat in her presence at all. She was more a welcomed distraction than anything else.

Still, she looked unsure of herself at his words. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"You are," he said bluntly, and grinned at the guilty look that crossed her face, her purple eyes widening. "But it's fine," he quickly reassured her. "I shouldn't be spending so much time in here. It's unhealthy to remain so attached to someone who is no longer there."

"Do you miss him?" Elizabeth asked him then, just as bluntly as he had been only seconds ago.

The Great Sage raised an eyebrow at her show of courage. Not many people would question him so openly. "Some would see that as a very inappropriate question." And if he were the sort of man Lord von Voltaire prided himself for being, it would have been, but Murata hardly cared if he was given equal respect as the king or not. He'd choose friends who were willing to honestly talk to him over those willing to serve him because of his title any day.

The lady looked ashamed of herself right then, lowering her eyes to the ground. "Pardon me for intruding, Your Eminence. I'm merely curious; you were closer to His Majesty the Great One than anyone, weren't you?"

"I suppose I was," he replied easily, a small smile on his face as he watched her various reactions. He enjoyed the fact that although she seemed humbled, he did not intimidate her at all. It was somewhat refreshing. Most noblewomen, with the exclusion of a select few (those being Lady Celi, the Princess, Lady von Karbelnikoff, Ulrike and the shrine maidens, and the Lady Aristocrats), were a bit self-conscious in the presence of someone of such a high rank. "That was a long time ago, however."

"I see," Elizabeth observed, allowing a short moment of silence before she continued. "The feeling in here has changed in the last three years. It's like it's empty now. People used to be able to feel his presence, even if they couldn't hear his voice," she said.

She was completely right. Before there had always been a sort of tension in the air; it felt as if someone was always watching, even when one was in the room alone. The air had been thick and heavy, and it had been easy to sense the power coursing through the walls, even for those who possessed little power themselves. The Great One's presence had easily been noticed, just as his absence was felt now.

"What do you think happened to his soul?" the blond woman asked him, sounding truly curious. "Could he have been reincarnated?"

"It's a possibility, though I highly doubt we'd know it was him if we saw him," the Sage said in return, truthful in his words. "He most likely wouldn't remember anything," he added, as there was no need for the Original King to be cursed with his fate. "There's no telling what happened to him." He smiled regardless of the depressing thoughts swirling about his head at those statements, and turned his full attention to the pretty lady who stood to his side. "And there's no use worrying about it. What's done is done; we can only move on," he told her with an optimistic grin. "Now, may I ask what's brought you here? Is there something I can do for you?"

She frowned at his inquiries, though he was sure her sudden grim mood had nothing to do with him. If he could have been given two guesses, he would have made the right deduction on the first try. "I've come to speak with you about His Majesty and Brother Wolfram."

"Ah," Murata frowned as well, thinking of his friend and the blond haired prince. "The newlyweds." He shook his head, motioning for her to follow him as he began to make his exit of the room. "I'm afraid there isn't anything I can do about that situation."

_That_ was an issue Shibuya would have to work out for himself.

"But you and His Majesty are friends," Elizabeth pointed out. "Surely you can talk some sense into him."

"Obviously you've never tried to do so before," he said as he led her into the dim halls of the building, shutting the heavy doors behind him. "There _is_ no talking sense into Shibuya. He does and thinks what he wants. If he wants to keep making things worse with Prince von Bielefeld, then that's his prerogative. There's nothing I can do to fix their relationship."

"You're angry with His Majesty," the young woman observed with a hint of surprise in her voice.

"I'm angry about a lot of things," he admitted.

"I don't believe we've ever seen you in such a mood."

He gave her a wry smile. "When you've lived as many lives and seen as many things as I have, you're bound to end up frustrated after a while. It was only a matter of time before everything started taking its toll."

"Is it His Majesty's hesitance that displeases you?" she wondered.

The Sage sighed again, thinking over her question before answering, remaining by her side as they walked sedately towards the exit, passing by the random shrine maiden along the way. "I'm not sure," he eventually replied. "It's as if he's become blind to every problem that arises before us, and his inability to deal with it all is affecting the prince as well. Neither of them have done anything to solve our current crisis, and with everything that's happening now…" He almost sighed a second time in the span of a few seconds, but stopped himself before he could. "Shibuya couldn't have picked a worse time to run off," he said instead.

"His absence is upsetting Brother Wolfram," Elizabeth pointed out, though the Sage was well aware of the Prince's current condition. He supposed the lady was simply worried about her friend, having been prevented from speaking with him in recent days, as the blond had refused to see any visitors who didn't come in the form of a green haired medic.

"Well, there isn't much besides Shibuya that can make him happy, is there?" Murata offered her a smile, but it didn't have the desired affect.

Lady Elizabeth's face fell, her eyes once again glancing down at the floor as they continued to walk, the stones passing slowly beneath her healed feet, the sounds made by their shoes echoing off the walls. "It isn't fair," she said at last, truly worried about her friend and sympathetic to his plight.

"Life's not fair," the Sage told her, hating to see such a pretty woman looking so downcast. "Believe me, I know. Shibuya and Prince von Bielefeld will have to work through this on their own. No one can do that for them. Let's hope they're capable of sorting through their personal problems and protecting the kingdom at the same time."

So far there was little to be confident about.

"Do you think they have a chance to be happy together?" she asked, her love for the blond haired boy still evident in her voice, and in the concerned sparkle that lit her violet eyes. Her feelings for the Prince were purer than they had been years ago when she'd battled the king for his fiancé, her delusions of true love now replaced with the sisterly sort that had brought them to be so close when they'd been young children.

Murata shrugged, having no real answer for her. It was just another of the many things he'd recently been unable to predict. "Who knows?" he said. "This marriage was either a mistake or a blessing in disguise." They'd arrived outside now; the cool winds of late summer and early autumn blowing against them, the stars twinkling brightly up in a clear black sky. "Now," he said, turning to face her with another wide smile, "why don't I escort you back to the palace. It's a bit late for such a pretty lady to be walking outside by herself."

Elizabeth smiled in return, the light blush that stained her fair cheeks hardly noticeable in the darkness of night. "I'd like that, Your Eminence," she replied, seeming pleased by his attention.

"Please," he began, black eyes sparkling behind wire rimmed glasses, and for the moment he was able to forget all the troubles that plagued them, focusing instead of the young woman who's company he was beginning to enjoy. "Call me Ken."

* * *

Nights in Blood Pledge Castle were always dark. The hallways fell silent as the maids returned to their quarters, taking the opportunity to rest before beginning their chores again the next morning. Guards stood at their posts silently, eyes shifting up and down the corridors, looking for any signs of trouble. The royal family rested peacefully in one wing of the grand palace, the other nobles slumbering just as serenely, their daily troubles forgotten as sleep claimed them.

The halls were dim, a few torches lighting the way for those who chose to stay up passed the midnight hour, but it wasn't very much to see by, nor was the glowing of the moon or the light of the stars as they peeked out from behind a stray cloud or two. There were no explosions coming from Lady von Karbelnikoff's laboratory, no arguments heard between the Aristocrats, no whispering from those who cleaned the rooms and cooked the meals for His Majesty, his family, and their many guests. All was quiet and still, with only the occasional gust of wind from outside creating any sort of noise.

On this particular night, many of the castle residents had chosen to retire early, and only a few remained awake. Lord Gwendal von Voltaire was one of those few, pouring over documents, charts, and maps, his attention still focused of the issue of their seemingly invisible enemy, working himself into an angry fluster, a painful ache beginning to form at his temples. There was work piled up high on the king's desk, and a stack of mail that had been delivered by a dispatch earlier that had yet to be read. Gwendal slowly looked through it all, though none seemed to be of great importance.

There were very few others as dedicated to their job as the Chief of State was, the castle's other occupants choosing sleep over continuous work, feeling safe within the palace walls.

Blood Pledge Castle was said to be an impenetrable fortress. The wall surrounding the capital city kept any unwanted guests from entering into their streets, and if anyone did happen to find their way in without permission there was another wall around the palace that prevented them from coming any closer to the seat of their monarchy. The gates were opened during the day to allow visitors to come and go, and security was the tightest it'd been in many year, but at night the gates closed, and the number of guards patrolling the halls decreased as those that had spent all day keeping a close watch on things were released from their duties to rest their weary bodies.

Blood Pledge was indeed a safe, secure structure, but its defenses had been penetrated before…

And would be again.

Prince Wolfram hardly noticed that anything was amiss, lost in his dreams as he rested within the king's large bed, the Princess laying comfortably beside him, looking very much like the small child she used to be as she curled up under the blankets, close enough to her father to make her feel safe, but far enough away from him so that she did not feel smothered. Many times she'd come in here over the years to share a bed with the blond when Yuuri was away, just as she'd slept between her two fathers when the black haired man was home. It was not an uncommon sight to see her and the Prince curled up next to one another, their matching pink nightgowns making their relation fairly obvious.

Both were heavy sleepers, so neither of them noticed as the door was slowly pushed open, just enough so that a group of dark figures could silently slip into the room.

There were two of them, nothing more than dark shadows in the blackness of the room, creeping towards the bed as quietly as possible. Prince Wolfram lay in his normal spot on the right side of the mattress, with King Yuuri's space taken up by the slighter body of the dark haired princess. Neither of them suspected a thing, their eyes shut against the darkness, bodies still in the embrace of their respective dreams. The two trespassers shared a smirk, quickening their approach as the confidence at not being caught increased with every second that went by in their favor.

Turning to his companion, one of the men whispered his orders. "Get the girl. Make sure she doesn't make any noise," he demanded, watching as the other man nodded in understanding.

The Princess was roughly yanked off of the bed, her eyes snapping open at the sudden movement, widening as her back met with a thick, hard chest, a large hand coming up to cover her mouth before she was able to utter a single word, much less make an attempt to shout for help. Her dark eyes stared through the darkness at her captive's leader, filled with fear at the leering smirk that was sent in her direction before the large man turned his attention to the still slumbering prince. Momentarily she tried to struggle, screaming against the palm that covered her mouth as she was dragged away from the bed and into the corner of the room, but it wasn't nearly loud enough to draw the attention that would save her and her father.

The first man chuckled at the Princess' attempts to break free, moving to awaken the body still resting upon the bed.

Wolfram was jerked suddenly into consciousness, the sound of ripping fabric reaching his ears as he was violently pulled off of the bed, stumbling on shaky legs as his head began to spin, confused as to why he'd been awakened so suddenly. He shook the bout of lightheadedness away, his senses returning to him slowly, and he could then feel someone's hand fisted into the collar of his nightdress, keeping him in a standing position. Tired green eyes looked up to discover the cause for the unexpected disturbance, only to widen at the unfamiliar face that greeted him. He opened his mouth to shout, only to find it quickly covered.

"Good morning, Prince Wolfram," the taller, much larger man smirked in apparent amusement, dark blue eyes sparkling dangerously.

The blond haired demon spared only a few seconds to take in the attackers' appearances. The one who had a tight hold on him was quite big, probably equal to Gwendal in strength and stature, with lengthy brown hair gathered back at the nape of his neck with a string of fraying twine. His face, ruggedly handsome in the moonlight, was covered with stubble, a light scar traveling across the bridge of his straight nose. The other man was years older, dark hair beginning to gray in a few areas, his nose too big and his gray eyes too small, shorter than the first man, but just as deadly looking. Both of them were wearing the gray armor of castle guards, but neither of them were of the demon tribe, that fact made apparent by the protective esoteric stones each of them had hanging around their necks.

Wolfram glared at the man before him, trying to remain calm, but his heart began to race when he heard Greta whimpering in the corner. He glanced in her direction for a moment, easily noticing the frightened tears that streamed down her face. Inwardly he cursed, immediately starting to try to pull away from the obviously stronger man who held him in place, wondering how these men had entered his room. His eyes widened further when realization dawned on him, and he shot a panicked look towards the door.

He'd forgotten to lock it after letting Greta in earlier that evening, and with these men dressed as two of their guards, they wouldn't have been questioned walking the halls this late at night.

"Now, now," the brown haired man crooned, his smirk still in place as he gave the blond prince a rough shake in warning. "Let's have none of that," he said, narrowing his eyes sharply then, leaning in closer so that he could whisper threateningly at the other boy. "I'm going to remove my hand, but if you so much as try to call for help, I'll have her killed." He jerked his head in the Princess' direction, causing her to release another whimper of fear.

Wolfram was sorely tempted to keep fighting, to kick and lash out until the man released him, then kill the man who dared threaten his daughter, but he knew there was little he could do to get away, not with Greta's life at stake. Instead he acquiesced, nodding against the palm still covering the lower half of his face, stilling his body as the man slowly began to pull away. He gritted his teeth when he was released, glowering at the large male before him, looking for his sword out of the corner of his eye and wondering how long it would take him to retrieve and unsheathe it, and if he'd be able to do so before they were able to harm Greta.

His attacker seemed to be able to sense his thoughts, his smirk quickly returning at the thought that he and his compatriot had the upper hand in the situation. "If you're a good prince, I might find enough compassion and spare her," he said with a dark chuckle. "However, if you give me any trouble," he began again, his smirk morphing into an evil grin, "… I'll cut her pretty head off."

Again Greta screamed against the hand covering her mouth, but it had the same effect as the last time.

"Who are you?" Wolfram seethed, his hands balling into tight fists by his sides, ones he had to struggle to keep from launching into the human's smug face. "What do you want?"

"I've come to leave your king a message," the taller man informed him, one of his hands still buried within pale pink fabric, wrinkling the front of the prince's night gown, one of the full sleeves already beginning to separate at the shoulder seam.

"Who sent you?" the blond asked then, quickly becoming angry, adrenalin beginning to course through his system, and it was a struggle to keep himself still, to prevent himself from lashing out and breaking free. "What message?"

His answer was delivered in the form of a violent slap, one that echoed loudly through the room and caused his head to snap to one side. He felt a drop of blood seep out of the cut that formed in the corner of his mouth, trickling down his chin and dripping onto his capture's wrist, his left cheek stinging at the force of the impact. He would have fallen over due to the sheer brutality exhibited if it weren't for the hand still clutching at his nightclothes, his vision darkening around the edges somewhat before clearing up again. He winced and took in a deep breath, feeling his heart beat faster with every passing moment.

Slowly he turned back to face the man, lifting a hand to lightly finger the blood still making a thin wet trail down his face, wanting to strike back, but knowing that that would most definitely not be the best way to handle the current situation. "You came all the way here just for that?" he wondered softly, although he was aware of the meaning behind that action, the idea that was suggested by slapping a man who was already bound by marriage.

_"To His Majesty Yuuri of the Great Demon Kingdom,"_

The man before him frowned deeply at his tone, eyes darkening further as he finally loosened his grip on the pink material he'd been clutching so tightly. He growled deeply, glaring at the shorter male, before lifting his previously occupied hand and lashing out a second time, this slap even harsher than the last one had been, causing the prince to cry out in surprise and collapse to the floor. The violent action did not leave the man satisfied, his foot jutting out to meet with the prince's stomach, catching the boy off-guard as he cradled his abused cheek and knocking the air from his lungs.

"Word has spread in the human lands about your marriage to the Demon King, Prince von Bielefeld," the brown haired human nearly snarled, leaning down to force the boy up again, keeping a firm hold on his upper left arm. "Seeing you now, I think it's obvious why he chose you as his mate," he continued, his free hand beginning to wander, lifting the pink gown enough so that he could slip it up his right thigh. "The rumors of your beauty hardly do you justice."

"Let go of me," Wolfram's voice remained lowered in a whisper, fearing that they'd carry out their threats on Greta should he speak any louder. He shivered as the offending appendage trailed up further, disgusted beyond belief that this human would have the audacity to touch him in such a way. He began to struggle against his hold again, but it did little more good than it had the last time, and only resulted in the man tightening his grip on his arm, the fingers of his other hand digging into his upper thigh hard enough to leave a group of five bruises.

"Not until I've finished my mission, though by that point I doubt you'll even be able to move," the attacker warned, his wicked grin returning. "And I would stop struggling if I were you," the pressure on his thigh increased at the man's threat. "You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to the princess, now, would you?"

Wolfram stopped immediately, sparing another quick glance in his daughter's direction, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he attempted to come up with some way to free her. "What is your mission?" he questioned, hoping the stall the man's true intent long enough to think of an escape.

"It's actually quite simple," the taller male leered, removing his hand from the Prince's leg in order to lightly finger his slowly bruising cheek, smiling at the mark he'd made on flawless porcelain skin. "And it will be quite enjoyable for me, though I can't imagine you'll find anything entertaining about it. You're so devoted to your king, after all. No other man could possibly take his place, hmm?"

_"Another gift I give to you, through the most trusting hands I've sent."_

Dread curled within the pit of Wolfram stomach, his heart rate increasing dramatically and bile beginning to rise in his throat at the image that came to mind at this man's words, the violation that would soon take place if he could not find some means to escape. He'd had his suspicions when he'd first been dragged out of the bed, but now it seemed all too clear what this man planned to do, what his mission entailed. Instantly, the prince's struggle began anew, trying to release his arm from the human's grip, his movements mirroring Greta's attempts to set herself free.

"Let go of me!" he hissed a little louder this time, his breathing becoming labored as panic started to spread through him, his blood rushing through his veins, the adrenalin erasing the pain that would have been felt by the hand that held him just a little too tightly.

"I've already told you, 'no,'" the man replied, using his free hand to dig through one of the pockets of the gray uniform he'd most likely stolen, producing a string of rope with a few esoteric stones woven in.

Wolfram took the opportunity he found when his attacker released his arm and reached for his hands, satisfied with the grunt he received after delivering a kick in his direction. Quickly he turned, stumbling slightly in his efforts to retrieve his sword, his heart sinking when he realized it rested too far away. The man was on him again in a matter of seconds, grabbing his arm and propelling him backwards, nearly throwing him onto the bed. The prince fought the entire time, landing another few kicks and a couple of punches, but the human was hardly phased by them, violently yanking his arms in front of him and tying them together at his wrists.

"You're not getting away, so don't even try it," the brunet seethed, somewhat out of breath after the short tussle that had just ensued. "And I would suggest refraining from trying to use your magic. It won't get you very far, and these stones will leave you reeling."

"What do you want from me?" the blond asked, though he already had a pretty good idea. There weren't many reasons for a duo of humans to disguise themselves as soldiers and sneak into the royal bedchambers in the dead of night, and each of them contained some small bit of violence.

"There's nothing I want from you," the human replied with another one of his lecherous grins, leaning down so that his face was only mere inches away from that of the prince's, causing Wolfram to turn his face to the side as his foul breath washed over him. "You're the one I want, the one I was sent here for. The princess being here as well happens to be mere coincidence, although her presence has so far been rather useful."

"Who sent you?" Wolfram tried again, his voice coming out a little louder than he intended, and he received another slap for his efforts, though this one was not nearly as harsh as the last two had been.

"I don't believe that's any of your business. Who my master is should not be your concern right now," the larger man said, his warm breath ghosting over Wolfram's pale skin. "What would King Yuuri give up for you?" he wondered then, smiling at the startled look that crossed the demon's face. "Would he go mad to come back and find that his daughter and pretty prince have been taken away from him?"

_"Perhaps it will reveal to you the entirety of my intent"_

The blond lay completely still on his back, frozen by the questions currently being posed by the human man, green eyes un-focusing as two large hands traveled down and pulled his legs apart, a large, muscular body settling between them. The panic he felt at that moment was nearly overwhelming, his bound hands beginning to tremble as he weakly lifted them to push as the broad chest that hovered above him, the stronger man's dark chuckle reverberating in his ears. In the corner, Greta was still trying desperately to get away, her tears falling faster now at the position her father was being forced into.

"What would King Yuuri do if he returned and found you bloody, broken and used, his lovely prince ruined by the very humans he claims to want peace with?" the human whispered into his ear, his words causing another shiver to race down the blond's spine. "Would he still want peace then, I wonder, or would he release the demon inside of him and wage war on our people?"

Again a hand drifted down the lift the bottom hem of Wolfram's nightgown, sliding it up his calves, over his knees, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his thighs, the chilly night air causing goose bumps to rise upon the warm flesh. Wolfram pushed at the man's chest, but it had no effect, merely incited him to draw ever closer. Ashamed and restricted of movement, the demon prince tightly closed his eyes, unable to look at Greta again as the humans thin, dry lips trailed lightly over the skin of his cheek. He didn't want his daughter to see this, and somehow it seemed less real with his eyes clenched shut, when he could deny that this was happening and pretend it was all a bad dream.

Where were his brothers now that he needed them? Where were the other castle guards? Did they not suspect something? Had these two men really been crafty enough to avoid detection for this long?

He tried to suppress a whimper as his jaw was roughly taken into a large, calloused hand, his face forced back towards the human man. Chapped lips lightly pressed against his in a poor imitation of a lover's chaste kiss, the desire in the other man so thick and potent he could physically feel it. It disgusted him, even more so since he was allowing this revolting act to continue. His fear for Greta's life prevented him from doing much more than pushing at his attacker, a movement that was hardly effective.

Somewhere inside he still had the hope that someone would come and stop this violation from happening, despite that possibility looking fairly bleak at the moment. He didn't care who it was as long as they could save Greta and stop this man from carrying out his intent to rape. Part of him prayed for Yuuri to come, though he'd feel even more ashamed for allowing the king to see him like this, willingly giving in to some other man - despite the fact that it was to save his daughter's life, the very idea sickened him. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to Greta; at the same time, he'd never forgive himself for conceding to this assault.

The other part of him was now thankful that Yuuri had run away. No matter how much it had hurt him when Yuuri had abandoned him so easily, he would rather he be on Earth now than here in this room. There was no telling what these men would have done to the dark haired boy had they snuck in to find the king here as well. Wolfram knew he wouldn't have been able to protect the other boy in that instance when he was as powerless as he presently was. There would have been little he could do to save the king from a fate equal in darkness to his own.

He kept his lips clamped tightly shut as the human above him continued to caress them with his own, refusing to give in so easily, telling himself he would continue to fight no matter how small his efforts ended up being. The human man merely chuckled - another one of his dark, deep bursts of laughter - one hand returning to his jaw, calloused fingered pressing hard into the skin, forcing his mouth open against his will. Wolfram let out a soft gasp at the pain and tried to quickly turn his face away, but the man who pinned him held firm, keeping him in place with hardly any effort at all. For all of Wolfram's powers and training, this human was still far stronger.

_"To bring down all that you have built, and to all that you have swore"_

A warm, wet tongue slipped inside, brushing against his own and tickling against the roof of his mouth. Wolfram gagged, revolted, his bound hands again pressing against the thick, broad chest, the muscles against them hard to the touch, and when the man refused to move he began kicking with his legs, though that did little more than the pressure exerted by his hands. He tried to turn away once more, but the grip on his face made that difficult to accomplish. The human moaned in obvious pleasure, the sounds vibrating in his mouth and causing Wolfram to feel sick, bile rising in the back of his throat again.

He'd never been kissed like this before, never felt so violated. The two kisses he'd shared with Yuuri had felt nothing like this, and even if they had been deeper than a soft brushing of lips against lips, he doubted it would have been in any way similar. Yuuri wasn't this forceful, this unfeeling. Yuuri wouldn't make him do things he was uncomfortable with, wouldn't pin him to the bed so he couldn't move and force something so unspeakable onto him.

The thought of the dark haired boy filled him with sudden invigoration, his struggle beginning anew and with greater energy. He bit at the other man's tongue, filled with relief when he hastily pulled away, hissing and cursing as he lifted a hand to cover his own mouth. Wolfram allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, hoping the filthy human was bleeding, before he was pushing the man away and forcing himself into a seated position, panting heavily as he moved to put some distance between them. He would not go into this easily; he would not be made into some cheap whore. He'd die before giving himself to someone other than Yuuri.

He didn't get very far, not that he'd expected to, but the hope had been enough to energize him, and he jerked away when the taller man reached for him. The dark haired human growled angrily, launching his much larger body towards the prince and dragging him back down onto the wide mattress, wrestling with the blond for a moment. Wolfram was able to scratch at his face before his hands were forced down again, tempted to raise his voice and shout for help, but the sight of Greta out of the corner of his eye prevented him from speaking again. He still hadn't come up with much of an escape plan; he just knew that he couldn't allow this to continue, even if it killed him.

"Don't think you can get away so easily, little prince!" the human man snarled into his face, teeth gritted together harshly, the white stained slightly by a touch of red. "I was going to be gentle with you, but after a stunt like that you'll be lucky if I leave you alive!"

Wolfram spat into his face, feeling oddly accomplished as he did so, despite the fact that he had yet to get away. "Kill Greta or me and Yuuri will have your head," the blond prince warned, confident that Yuuri would do something to avenge he and their daughter, even if it was simply allowing these men to rot in prison for the rest of their lives.

The older looking man stared at him for a long moment, seeming to consider his words, before another one of his smirks spread across his face. A hand returned to Wolfram's gown, creeping up beneath it, gliding over the soft skin it found there and playing with the ties that kept his undergarments in place. Wolfram's face paled considerably, and he swallowed convulsively, his hands beginning to shake again, and he could do nothing as the man lowered himself against him, lips trailing over the skin of his neck.

"Mmm," he made a noise of approval, acrid breath sweeping across his flesh. "You taste so good," he said, his smirk widening at the trembling from the thin body beneath him. "So warm," he added, his hand moving back down to gently stroke the skin of one of the Prince's smooth thighs. "Has your king ever touched you like this?" he wondered, moving back up to whisper into Wolfram's ear, his tongue flicking out to momentarily lick at the delicate shell. "Would I really be put to death for taking what belongs to him?"

"You'll already be executed for the crimes you've committed.," the blond told him. "Whether you continue or not, your fate was sealed the moment you entered this room."

"Ah, but King Yuuri is much too gentle to have anyone killed, isn't he?" the human man chuckled at the look on Wolfram's face then, knowing he was right. "There," he said, malicious grin widening in confidence, "you know it's true, don't you? I can do whatever I want to you and still be allowed to live. Rape, murder - I doesn't matter. The fact remains that you'll be sullied and broken, no use to your beloved king, and I'll still be kept alive. I'll gladly spend the rest of my days in prison if it means fulfilling the mission that's been given to me."

_"Long live the Demon King and his Demon Whore."_

Wolfram would have asked him about his mission, would have demanded to know the name of the person who'd given him such a task if he'd thought he would receive that answers he wanted. Instead he was left to discover them on his own, his mind swirling as he tried to understand. What would any of the human kings want from him? Did they really think he was so important to Yuuri that his death would bring about the reaction they so desired? They obviously wanted war, consumed by their sick need for power and the bloodlust that plagued them, but did they truly think using him would incite Yuuri to retaliate and complete their quest for violence?

_'Yuuri…'_ the pale demon thought of his husband, barely noticing the hands that continued to trail over his body, touching him in places no one had dared to caress before, adding on to the dread that was slowly eating away at his insides. He wanted to throw up, wanted to kill these men who threatened he and his daughter, would have burned them so that nothing remained if it weren't for the stones that protected them. All of his attempts to get away had been useless so far, leaving him with little hope of saving himself or the frightened girl still being restrained in the corner.

What would Yuuri think of him right now? Would he be angry with him for allowing their daughter to be put into a position where she could very easily be killed? Would he pity him for having his pride and honor stripped away at the hands of this perverted human soldier? Would he feel guilty for leaving, for not being here when his family needed him? Would he even realize how insulting this whole event was meant to be, his home invaded - and effortlessly it seemed, regardless of all the safety measures they'd taken in recent weeks - his child restrained and threatened, and his husband coerced into submission by a man who wouldn't have even been equal to him in strength if only he were able to cast a spell.

Wolfram felt humiliated as two large hands continued to stroke his flesh, roaming over him as if they wished to touch him everywhere at once, his gown ripped and skin bruised, legs forced apart with hardly any effort at all. He'd never hated himself as much as he did at that moment, and he knew that even if he did manage to get out of this alive, never again would he be able to hold his head high with pride and dignity, never again would he be able to look Yuuri in the eye with confidence and self-assurance. His pride was being taken away from him with each touch, each unwanted kiss, the human's dry lips working down his neck, teeth sinking into the skin at the curve that lead to his shoulder.

He wanted to cry, wanted to flail and scream until he was released, wanted to shout for Yuuri, Gisela, or his mother, no matter how weak and helpless he appeared while doing so. He wanted someone to save them - anyone - Gunter, Conrart, Dakaskos, it didn't matter who as long as they could protect Greta, as long as they could get her far away from here, somewhere where she'd be safe, where she wouldn't have to be afraid. He wanted to hear Yuuri's voice again; to see him smile just once, to hold him close and never let go, because he may never be given another chance. He didn't care if Yuuri refused to love him now. It didn't matter anymore.

No amount of love could save him now.

He could only imagine how much of a scandal this would cause, regardless of the outcome. Whether he lived or died, it didn't change the fact that his private life would be dissected before the courts as these two men were put on trial for their crimes - if they were even caught. He could already envision the looks he'd receive from the nobles, the mixture of pity and disgust that would be directed his way, the hissed insults that would forever point out his weaknesses, his mistakes. Their citizens would be disappointed when it was discovered that the prince they'd believed in was proven to be nothing more than a powerless child, that the soldier they'd depended on to protect them couldn't even protect himself or his family.

_'Yuuri…'_

The sounds of a scuffle taking place in the corner of the room managed to break him out of his thoughts, his head snapping to the side and his green eyes widening as he watched Greta persist in her struggle. Her captive hissed when she viciously bit at his hand, tears still staining her face but brown eyes now narrowed in determination. Wolfram's heart soared when she turned within the human's tight hold, lifting her right leg to administer a harsh knee to the man's groin, a trick her dark haired father had taught her years ago, never knowing that she would actually one day put it into use.

The gray haired man grunted loudly in pain, arms instinctively releasing their hold on her as he doubled over, hands moving downward as if to sooth the area that had been abused. Greta immediately darted away, stumbling slightly in the darkness of the room, running towards the exit as fast as she could. She'd reached the door before the man above the prince could finish his shouted order of "grab her!" flinging it open and dashing into the hallway, her loud shouts echoing throughout the dimly lit castle. They filled Wolfram with a sense of relief, infinitely proud that she hadn't given into her own fear, and somewhat disgusted with himself for having to rely on her.

"Help!" she screamed so loudly there wasn't a chance that her voice wouldn't be heard. "Someone, help! Guards!"

"Stop her, you fool!" the brown haired leader hissed at his companion, though there wasn't much they could do to stop the inevitable now, their plans abruptly changing.

Again Wolfram was revitalized, swiping at the man hovering over him with his bound hands, fingers catching his face and nails breaking the skin. He scrambled away, swiftly crawling towards the end of the bed, his gown falling off one of his shoulders, jaw sore and various places on his body bruised as evidence to the attack. He turned, spotting his sword resting against the wall near the vanity, moving to slide off the bed and run for it, blood pumping through his veins. Inwardly he cheered in victory, his dark thoughts leaving him almost immediately just as his feet lowered to touch the cold stone ground.

A hand shot out and grabbed the back of his nightgown before he could take more than a step, pulling him backwards until he was once more sprawled across the mattress. He allowed himself to shout this time, fighting the large body with all that he had, cursing and flailing in a spirited effort to remove himself from this man's clutches. He could already hear the guards storming down the hall, and knew it wouldn't be long until these men were caught. He wasn't about to go down without a fight, not now that Greta had gotten away, and would inflict as much damage as he could in the short few moments that passed before the guards entered the room.

One of the brunet's large clenched fists connected with the side of his face, the opposite of the one his palm had hurt earlier, eliciting another pained shout as Wolfram's head snapped to the side again and he tasted the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He struck back but missed, the man's enraged face filling his vision as two hands closed around his throat, squeezing hard and cutting off his air supply. Wolfram raised his own hands to scratch at the man's arms and wrists, but the grip he exerted on his neck did not ease in the least.

"You stupid bitch!" the fuming human bellowed into his face, eyes lit with an angry fire, hands tightening even more around their prey. "I warned you, but you didn't listen! Don't make me repeat myself more than once! Don't think I won't kill you!"

Wolfram opened his mouth to reply, but he was unable to force out any words. He couldn't speak, couldn't breath, couldn't scream for help, could only continue flailing ineffectively, his movements slowing as his lungs refused to take in any oxygen. It was only a few moments more before his vision began to go dark, blurring around the edges and losing focus, his lungs burning from lack of air. He could hear noises in the background, but nothing really registered, his brain beginning to shut down, his heartbeat decreasing from the fast flutter it had been hammering away at since he'd first realized his predicament.

He heard someone's rough voice roaring, and the hands holding his throat suddenly loosened, the body above him jerking away and crashing to the hard floor. Wolfram gasped for breath, inhaling deeply, his thin chest heaving. He stared up at the top of the canopy, allowing himself another moment of relief, a cacophony of various voices sounding around him. He could identify one as his mother's, alarmed and distressed as she tried to calm a sobbing Greta, who was babbling incessantly about what had happened. Another he recognized as Dakaskos, shouting orders to some of the guards.

"Who are you?" he heard Gwendal shout from nearby, and when he turned his gaze to the side Wolfram saw his older brother standing over the splayed body of his attacker, the tip of his sword pointed at the human's neck. He was outraged, red-faced and looking as if he was barely holding himself back, his free hand clenched tightly around a piece of crumpled parchment.

The man on the floor remained calm, in no way frightened by the deadly blade held out in his direction. "I see you've received my master's letter," he said in reply, and Wolfram could almost hear the smug smirk in his words, even as his thoughts began to swirl within his mind, his breathing still not under control, his heart beginning to hammer within his chest again.

A letter? Like the one left in Fane? Had another one been sent for the king?

"I would suggest that you answer my question," Gwendal fumed, drawing closer to the prone man. "What is your purpose here?"

"Isn't that obvious?" the brown haired human wondered.

The tall, dark haired man looked towards Wolfram then, seeming to notice the state he was in for the first time as his eyes widened. Wolfram could hardly look away, even though he wanted to, ashamed of himself, especially under his oldest brother's heavy gaze. His hands were still bound, and he imagined the position he was in was utterly pathetic, the human's intent made obvious by his current condition, pale skin deeply bruised, blood still seeping out of the corner of his mouth, and gown ripped in assorted places. Wolfram knew he looked horrible, but he could hardly move enough to fix his appearance even a little, nearly frozen on the spot, his fear finally beginning to hit full force now that the adrenalin was beginning to lessen.

Gwendal's dark face blanched at the sight, before he was narrowing sapphire eyes at the human man, his glare nearly enough to have others in the room running in fright. Quickly he sheathed his sword, then reached down to grab the man by the collar of his borrowed uniform, dragging him up to eye level in order to bite out a reply into his face. "You will pay for your transgressions," he warned, fists shaking with rage that he was notably struggling with himself to contain.

"On the contrary, Lord von Voltaire," the brunet continued to smirk. "I think you'll find your king to be fairly lenient."

"It won't matter if I kill you before he returns."

"Gwendal," their mother's voice called out to him from the doorway. "He must stand trial. A fair trial."

"Look at your son before you tell me he deserves a fair trial!" her oldest barked, and Wolfram's emerald eyes turned to seek out the former queen.

He saw her by the door, having yet to enter the room, dressed in one of her slinky silk nightgowns, the smooth fabric died a dark black and barely long enough to cover her thighs. She had a sheer robe of a matching color thrown hastily over it, her youthful face washed clean of the make-up that covered it during the day, her ringlets mussed with sleep and beginning to fall out of their tight curls. Her slender arms were wound protectively around her granddaughter, Greta peeking out from the maternal embrace and glancing about the room wildly, eyes swollen red from her tears and wide with terror.

His mother's green gaze met his, and he watched as her eyes doubled in size, her mouth falling open in shock. Hurriedly she passed Greta to one of the guards, nearly running across the room as her expression paled considerably, her dainty hands reaching out to stroke his face once she'd made it to the side of the bed, gently brushing his blond bangs off his forehead and out of his eyes. Tears gathered within her depths, like she had been the one to go through such an ordeal instead of her youngest son.

"Wolfram, darling," she whispered, neither of them paying much attention to Gwendal as he ordered that the criminals be placed into one of the empty cells in the dungeon. Her hands continued to flutter about his face, as if she had to touch him in order to prove to herself that he was really there. "Are you alright?"

He didn't know how to answer her truthfully. He was feeling so many things at once, his emotions washing through him in a giant wave that left him reeling, shaking in the intensity of them. He was relieved to be alive, grateful that Greta had not been injured, and thankful that the men had been stopped before they could go any further with their plans. There was anger, shame, guilt, sadness, and fear all swirling in a thick cloud of thought and feeling, each just as strong and potent as the next.

When he didn't reply, the blonde woman helped him up into a seated position, then reached out to try and remove he bindings that restricted the movement of his hands. She jumped back with a startled yelp at the electric shock set off from one of the stones embedded within the rope, the charged jolt racing through the young man's body, and he was left gasping at the slight pain that was experienced and the sudden churning of his stomach. Bile rose in his throat again, and this time he feared he'd be unable to keep it from escaping.

"Mother," he said to her softly, still panting heavily, even though his lungs had since been soothed by the intake of air. In the back of his mind he realized he was close to hyperventilating, but the comprehension did nothing to ease his harsh breathing. "I think I'm going to be sick," he told her in a rush of words, striving to move his trembling body off the bed.

His mother was quick to help him, allowing him to lean on her as she lead him into the adjoined washroom, where he proceeded to collapse onto the floor in front of the chamber pot, emptying his stomach of the little food he'd eaten earlier that evening. He felt her hand sliding through his hair, pulling the golden strands out of his face as he continued to retch, dry heaving for a few moments when there was nothing left in his abdomen. His shaking had yet to cease, and once his sudden sickness died down, he allowed himself to relax into his mother's hold, sitting on the floor and leaning into the circle of her arms.

"Shhh," she whispered again, comforting him as best as she knew how. "You'll be alright," she told him, smoothing one of her hands against the side of his face again, trailing over the dark bruises that were quickly forming, before she slid it down his back, rubbing consolingly. "You'll be alright," she repeated, reassuring him as much as she was reassuring herself, cradling his head against her bosom.

The washroom was dark, the only light spilling in from within the bedroom, where candles had been lit soon after the others had barged in, though he hadn't noticed until right then. It was enough to allow him to see into the room, though he doubted anyone would be able to look and see he and his mother clearly, their forms shrouded by shadow. He watched as the two human men were lead away, surrounded by guards on all sides and guided by the points of swords and spears. Anissina had appeared in the doorway, no doubt alerted by the ruckus that had been caused, her long red hair released from it's tight pony-tail, her blue eyes looking to her childhood friend with worry as she held onto a still sobbing Greta.

None of them came to see him, perhaps knowing that he would need a few moments to himself before their endless questioning could begin. Wolfram had no intention of leaving the washroom any time soon, nor did his mother seem keen on shepherding him out. She held him tightly, almost as if she were afraid to let go, whispering a bunch of nonsense that he barely even heard, and rocking him in her arms as he if were a small child again. Back and forth, back and forth, the beat of her heart against his ear calming him, his own finally slowing to match.

It had been so long since his mother had held him, and right now he wanted nothing more than to remain there, safe and protected. At the moment, he didn't care how weak he seemed, nor how pitiful he looked. The only thing that mattered to him was that Greta was safe; the only thing of great importance was that neither of them had been seriously hurt. They'd narrowly escaped a fate he thought worse than death, and though his pride had taken a harsh fall and his confidence in himself had plummeted, he was relieved and so very grateful that nothing worse had happened.

_'Yuuri…'_ he thought of his husband again, and he wondered what he was supposed to tell him, how he was supposed to explain all this, and what his reaction would be once he inevitably found out.

Most of all he prayed that the dark haired man would return soon, for he knew that once he was able to see his smiling face, he'd feel safe again, his fear would instantly be washed away, because wimpy Yuuri would never allow anything like this to happen ever again. He was sure of that.

"Wolfram," he could still hear his mother's soft voice, cracking and catching in her throat as he felt a few drops of liquid fall into his hair, and it didn't take long for him to surmise that they were her tears. "My little boy."

He nestled closer to her, as close as he could possibly get with his hands still tightly bound together at the wrist, burying his face into the softness of the swell of her breast, his trembling easing only slightly, joined by the tremors that ran through her slender body as she struggled to hold in her sobs. It felt so good to be held close; to be the recipient of a gentle, tender touch after all that had been done to him that night. It felt like forever since his mother had last embraced him like this, since he'd let her hug him so tightly, since he'd sought any form of comfort from the cradle of her arms.

It wasn't until she pressed a kiss to his forehead for the first time in what felt like an eternity that he finally allowed himself to break down, pouring out and releasing the hurt and sorrow in his heart as his own tears filled his eyes and slid down his face. She whispered to him still, her voice so soft he could barely hear her above the noise taking place within his room and in the outer hallway, but it was soothing nonetheless, and served it's purpose of offering comfort.

"You'll be alright," she told him again, though neither of them truly believed her words.

**TBC…**


	14. Signer

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

**A rather important note: **There's a scene in this chapter that I suppose can be a bit misleading, in that it could potentially be misconstrued as being a foreshadowing to future Mpreg. I want to make it clear right now that there will be _no_ Mpreg in this fic. Don't get me wrong, I'm a proud fan of Mpreg, but I never envisioned it as being a factor when I was first coming up with this story. Sorry to those who would have actually liked it, but I don't feel there's a place for it in the way this story will eventually progress.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Fourteen - Signer - To Sign  
**

Conrart was awakened in the middle of the night by a commotion in the hallway. It took him a moment to clear his mind of the fog of sleep that still clung to his senses, to make sense of the shouts he was hearing outside of his room, but once awareness dawned on him he immediately sprinted into action. He jumped out of bed in a hurry, throwing on whatever clothes he could find - his khaki colored pants, and the white shirt he wore beneath his matching jacket, not even taking the time to button it properly before he was grabbing his sword and exiting the room.

Multiple guards shuffled their way down the corridor, each looking as panicked as the next, the higher ranking soldiers shouting orders to those who worked below them, hardly even noticing Conrart as they went about their duties, taking care of whatever issue that had arisen over the course of the evening as if there were some great threat of danger. The brown haired captain allowed himself a moment's worth of confusion and curiosity before he was again taking action, grabbing onto the arm of a passing guard, a young man the had once been part of Wolfram's personal group of soldiers, but who had been promoted to the Royal Guard upon the blond's accession to Prince.

"What's going on?" he asked, his own brown eyes wondering up and down the hall, seeking out the source of everyone's apparent vexation.

"Captain," the youthful dark haired man greeted him, slightly out of breath. "Our defenses have been breached. The enemy managed to infiltrate the palace and made their way to His Majesty's bedroom."

Conrart felt as if his heart had just been ripped from his chest, falling down to land somewhere around his feet. "What?" he questioned in surprise, his thoughts going a mile a minute, relief over the fact that the king was currently absent lasting only a second when an image of his younger brother flashed in his mind. "What happened?" he demanded, his grip on the younger soldier tightening somewhat in his dread and alarm.

"Prince Wolfram and Princess Greta were attacked," he explained, obviously frightened about being the bearer of bad news, stammering somewhat under the older man's gaze, as if the whole ordeal were somehow his fault. "We weren't alerted to the fact until we heard the Princess screaming for help in the hallway."

The Captain cursed loudly, causing the other man to flinch before the brunet released him, turning to begin heading towards a completely different wing of the palace, his bare feet slapping against the stone floors. He ran the entire way, and still it took him longer to arrive than he would have liked, the increased number of guards now stationed along the royal hall not going unnoticed by his hazel eyes. It filled him with a sense of foreboding, the beat of his heart picking up as he heard Greta's near hysterical babbling, her voice carrying out into the ornately decorated corridor.

He took a moment to think over the distance from his room to that of His Majesty's. Long ago when he'd first enlisted in the military, after his father had died and he'd completed his training with Gunter, he'd decided to give up his room in the royal wing of the palace, choosing to take his place amongst the soldiers instead. He used the room for nothing more than sleep, so his time in there was limited, but in situations like this it made him wish he'd chosen to remain closer to his family. The fact that everyone else seemed to have been aware of this evening's happenings before him was not comforting in the least.

Entering through the doorway, his light brown eyes took in the sight before him, the plethora of people who had already entered before he had even arrived. They were all in various states of dress, most of them in nothing more than simple night clothes and bathrobes, their loud voices bouncing off of the walls, creating a large mass of jumbled words that he found difficult to pick apart in his anxious state. Greta was being comforted by Anissina, although the red haired woman's soothing words seemed to be doing little good to the emotional girl. The Aristocrats were also present, yelling at one another as they attempted to find someone to place the blame on, most of their angered shouts currently being thrown in Gwendal's direction.

"Is your security here so lax that you'd allow two human men to enter and do as they please to the royal family?!" Auberon was ranting, screaming all sorts of insults into Gwendal's face, 'powerless' and 'incompetent' being only a few of them, his face growing redder as the level of his shouting increased.

"I find it highly suspicious that you would care so much now for the safety of your nephew!" Gwendal shot back and looked close to pummeling the older man; he probably would have - if only to release the anger he'd too long kept inside - were it not for Gunter holding him back, the lavender haired man struggling against the stronger body pulling against the arms that restrained him.

"And what exactly are you suggesting?!" the dirty blond haired man wondered acidly, snarling into the face of his fellow Aristocrat, the man who had once been his nephew, even if it was only through marriage. "You'd dare to imply that I had something to do with this heinous act of violence?!"

"I wouldn't put it passed you!" Conrart's older brother growled lowly, though the brown haired man knew his words were nothing more than hot air. Tonight's events had simply been the last straw, the final incident to take place before he completely snapped, taking out his ire on anyone and everything that happened to be in the vicinity.

"Gwendal, please!" came Gunter's exasperated beg from behind the larger man, hair mussed and bedclothes somewhat askew due to his efforts, and Conrart thought it was truly a miracle that he'd managed to keep the younger man at bay for so long.

"Do not attempt to hold me accountable for your disgrace!" Auberon spat in disapproval, turquoise eyes flashing in the candle light. " _You_ were the one who failed in your duties as Chief of State!" he roared. "If you can't even protect your own brother, how do you expect the remainder of us to trust you to protect the kingdom?! How can we know where your priorities lie when so far you've done nothing to end this madness?!"

Gunter's precarious hold broke then as Gwendal finally managed to free himself, infuriated beyond his point of control. Conrart barely had the time to push him back before one of his large fists landed along Auberon's jaw, hands pressing against his strong shoulders as Gunter rushed foreword to wind his arms around his abdomen again, slowly drawing him back from the older man. The dark haired male attempted to escape again, but with two people now holding him back instead of one, it proved to be a bit more difficult. He growled against the confines, but when it seemed as if the other two men were reluctant to release him any time soon, he stilled his efforts, choosing to release all of his pent up hostility in the dark glare of his blue eyes and the harsh words from his mouth.

"Gwendal, calm down," Conrart implored, narrowing his eyes at the effort it took to keep the older man from springing foreword again. He'd always been a strong man, but his now emancipated outrage only increased the level of his physical strength. "We won't solve anything if we continue to allow ourselves to be drawn into these pointless arguments!"

Gwendal hardly paid him any mind, choosing to ignore him instead of heeding his words. "And what have you done besides hide under the roof of a king you hate?!" his older brother wondered maliciously of the shorter Aristocrat, his words spat in a fierce voice filled with resentment and ill-tempered venom. "If you place so much distrust in him, why rely on him for your protection?!"

"You're one to talk about trust!" Lord von Bielefeld shouted sarcastically, a bitter chuckle erupting from within his chest. "Are you not the one plotting against the crown?" he inquired, blue-green eyes narrowed and calculating, spitting out his words as if they were sharp blades intended to wound the younger nobleman. "Traitor!"

"Why you…" And Gwendal's aspiration to inflict serious injury upon the older man only intensified at that, his battle against the arms and hands keeping him in place gaining new energy.

Conrart was somewhat startled and unnerved by his older brother's reaction, and he feared what would happen if the man were to break free again. He couldn't help but wonder if blood would be spilled in that event, the crazed look that had entered the taller man's sapphire eyes enough cause for concern. It had been many years since he'd seen the man this enraged; not since the last war had Gwendal's threats sounded so genuine, his fury so powerful and uncontrolled. Conrart imagined the situation must have truly been a horrific one to throw the normally stoic man into such a nearly animalistic state.

"Enough!" he heard his mother's voice shout authoritatively from the doorway of the washroom, her voice loud and shrill in order to be heard above all the others. Gwendal froze at her tone, and Auberon's shouting abruptly ceased, the room's occupants turning to rest their eyes upon her slender frame.

Conrart, too, turned to glance in her direction, and when he did his hazel eyes inevitably fell onto the form of his younger brother, widening at the sight that met his gaze. The blond was leaning heavily against their mother's side, nearly clutching to her even though she already had one of her arms wrapped securely around him to keep him steady. He seemed bone-weary, ready to collapse on the spot, his legs wobbling slightly as he was lead into the candlelit room, his hands bound together by a thick string of rope.

His pale pink gown was ripped and torn in a variety of places, so much so that it wouldn't have been worth it to mend the clothing. One of the sleeves remained attached by only a few thin threads, two of the dark pink bows missing - and when he looked around the room he found them laying against the sheets, which were tangled and thrown into a state of disarray, enough evidence that a heated struggle had taken place upon the bed. Part of the bottom hem of ruffles had been ripped off, a long gash trailing down the back of the fabric, the rest of the material wrinkled and mangled beyond recognition.

Wolfram's complexion had gone completely white, his hands shaking so slightly it would have gone unnoticed by the untrained eye. Blood seeped from an injury along his shoulder, the red liquid tricking down to stain a few areas on the top of his nightgown, and when Conrart looked closer, he realized that it was not merely a simple cut; his brother had been viciously bitten, the wound a perfect ring of teeth marks. His neck was ringed with red hand-shaped marks that were beginning to bruise, evidence to an attempted strangulation.

The wounds that stood out the most, however, were the striking bruises that had appeared on his face. The once flawless pale skin was swollen and dyed in deep blues and purples, the right corner of his mouth split. The bright contusions made the true purpose of the attack all too apparent. Whoever had done this had used Wolfram to leave what Conrart thought was a very vivid message for their king, and he momentarily wondered how Yuuri would react to the unspoken proclamation, or if he would even understand what it meant.

Immediately Conrart left the side of his older brother in order to move towards his younger sibling, confident that their mother's presence, sharp words, and harsh demands would suffice in keeping him in check for the time being. Conrart's main concern right now was not Auberon's safety (not that he cared so much for the older man; he would have gladly punched him in the face himself had he any less restraint when it came to dealing with the Aristocrats), but Wolfram's condition, and the circumstances that had lead him to appear so abused.

"What happened?" he asked, reaching out to brush a strand of matted golden hair behind one of his ears.

Wolfram lashed out immediately, violently smacking his hand away. "Don't touch me!" he exclaimed, voice sharp and green eyes wild.

Conrart didn't allow himself to feel any disappointment, though he hated to think that his brother was denying him again, after all that they'd done in the last four years to break down the barriers that had been erected between them. He internally told himself not to be offended, that Wolfram's reaction had been instinctive and had nothing to do with him, reminding himself that the blond had been through a lot in the course of one evening, though he still had no clue as to what exactly had taken place in this room. He had an idea, but jumping to conclusions had never been one of his faults - his stubbornness and self-sacrificing nature made up for that.

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" he asked then, though his focus was mainly on his mother, noticing how her emerald eyes appeared somewhat puffy and red. Obviously she'd been crying, upset and frightened enough by the state of her youngest son to be reduced to tears.

"I'll tell you what has transpired here," Auberon began gruffly, arms crossed over a thick chest, his sandy hair released from it's bindings so that the thick strands fell about his face. "The utter disregard for the threats that have been expressed have finally lead our enemies to take further action in receiving our utmost attention."

"We have not disregarded any threats," Gunter quietly corrected him. "Everything that has taken place since Cimaron reinstated their hostilities has been looked into to the best of our abilities. We have taken the threats and warnings that have been posed very seriously."

"I find that hard to believe," von Bielefeld continued, leading the other aristocrats in their little rebellion, for although Winifred, Marlena, Griselda, Julius and the others were present, none of them chose to speak on the matter - and a majority of them had gathered together by the door, watching the current events with curiosity. Auberon shot foreword then, towards Gwendal, and ripped something out of his hands, a piece of parchment Conrart had not noticed his brother was even holding on to. "'To His Majesty Yuuri of the Great Demon Kingdom," he recited for all to hear. "'Another gift I give to you, through the most trusting hands I've sent. Perhaps it will reveal to you the entirety of my intent, to bring down all that you have built and to all that you have swore. Long live the Demon King and his-'"

"Stop it!" Wolfram's voice cut him off, surprising all of them with it's suddenness. He clung to the former queen like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver, the trembling in his hands growing harsher as the words on the letter were shared. "Stop it, stop it!"

Auberon's eyes narrowed further, taking in the pathetic form of his nephew, frowning in distaste. "Look at what your negligence had allowed to occur!" he said to the others, pointing a finger at the young blond prince, before he was turning to glare heatedly at Gwendal. "You had us convinced that _he _ would be the answer to all our problems, that our honor and pride would be upheld in the world and that our enemies would be stopped!"

_'You promised us a war!'_ Conrart knew the man was thinking, but Auberon refrained from saying it with so many other people in the room, people who would be in opposition to their grand plan to force Wolfram to sign a declaration. The brown haired Captain had half a mind to bring their devious plot to light, but didn't think it would be appropriate to do so at the time, when Wolfram had already been through enough for one night.

"Now they've made their way to our capital, they've broken through our defenses and attacked the seat of our monarchy, and _you_ sat back and let it happen!" the angered aristocrat accused. "How long have you had this letter? Did you think they were joking, that they wouldn't try to carry out their threats?! Was the destruction in Fane not enough to open your eyes to what's happening around us?!"

"_That_ letter was not the one we found in Fane," Gwendal told him evenly, stubbornly keeping his temper in check, though his eyes still shot blue fire at the older man and his hands were still tightly clenched, his teeth gritted together. "_That_ letter was found amongst the mail delivered to the palace earlier this afternoon. It hadn't been read until those men began their attack."

"Any fool with even half the military training that you've received should know to have the king's bedroom carefully guarded at all times," Auberon snapped in return. Conrart flinched at this statement, knowing that such a task had been his responsibility. How many sleepless nights had he spent standing outside His Majesty's door like a careful watchdog, both during the times he was here as well as when he was away? Why hadn't he done so tonight? Why hadn't he come back after Wolfram demanded that he go away?

"Now you've let our _human_ enemies turn your brother - our _Prince_," Auberon was still shouting, sneering in his nephew's direction, shooting him a look filled with disdain, "into a cheap whore!"

"How dare you?!" Celi seethed before either Conrart or Gwendal could react in any way, looking angrier than her oldest son had appeared only moments ago, shaking with a rage she rarely exposed. "Have you no compassion or sense at all?! Whatever those men did to him, he did not go into it willingly!"

"I'm sure they expected him to, and rightly so," Lord von Bielefeld spat. "Sleeping in His Majesty's chambers before they were even married… it's improper and demonstrates a lack of decorum! Is this your idea of how royalty should conduct themselves?" he asked spitefully. "This is not what I agreed to when I consented to this marriage! Had I known our future prince would turn out to be nothing more than a powerless tramp, I never would have allowed it!"

"That's enough!" Celi yelled, hardly restraining herself from screaming into his face. "I refuse to put up with anymore of your profane assertions, you bastard! One more slanderous word from your mouth, and I'll have you exiled and stripped of your title!"

Her threats hung heavy in the air, and none of them had any doubts that she would go through with them, or that she could. Auberon had been abusing his authority for years, his insults growing worse as nothing was done to prevent him from doing so, and Conrart supposed his mother had finally had enough of it. She'd certainly put up with it for far too long, his harsh words not only directed at her, but at her sons as well. With everything that had happened tonight, she'd finally hit the point where she could no longer sit by passively.

His mother could be an intimidating woman if she chose to. Many people tended to forget the vast amounts of power she possessed beneath her curvy exterior, as she very rarely used it. But when she got rid of her oblivious, girlish disguise, they were reminded of the reason she'd been chosen as Demon Queen; outwardly she appeared fairly ignorant, easily manipulated, but inwardly she was truly very calculating, and could use others just as easily as she could be used. She could be forceful when it mattered, and though she'd lacked confidence in herself when she'd been queen and relied heavily on her older brother for guidance - a mistake that had cost them dearly - she was very capable of giving orders and handing out punishments.

Auberon fell silent immediately, not so stupid as to test the woman when she was already well passed her limit. He'd never liked Cecilie - but then he'd never liked women who didn't take orders from him and who refused to bend to his will - but he knew better than the cross her. He glared at her for a long moment, the look on his face causing him to appear tempted, as if he desired to spit out more hateful words, but he held back, and turned on his heel to stalk towards the door. He mumbled under his breath, but his muttering went unheard by those who remained in the room, and he soon disappeared from sight, taking long strides down the hallway.

The tension the older man always carried around left the room as he did, and Gwendal immediately relaxed as a result, though his shoulders were still stiff and his frown did not show any signs of easing. Celi was back to tending to her youngest son, whispering soothing words to him and apologizing for his uncle's foul disposition, her actions reminiscent of the ones she'd used to comfort him as a young child, when he'd clung to her in a similar way, when he'd held on tight instead of pushing her away and shouting at her to stop treating him like a baby.

"Conrart, can you remove these bindings?" their mother asked him, her voice calm, but her stance was enough to reveal her displeasure, her puffy eyes still narrowed in warning, daring anyone else to speak up in some form of opposition.

The brunet moved closer to the two blonds, wary of Wolfram swatting him away again, but the boy hardly moved, not even when Conrart lifted his hands to get a look at the rope wrapped tightly around them. He'd wondered why no one had bothered to take it off yet, but understood when he caught sight of the gleaming stones woven in, easily recognizing them as the esoteric stones mined in the human lands. It made sense now why Wolfram hadn't been able to fight back; his sword would have been inaccessible if he'd been caught by surprise, and with his magic suppressed it would have been difficult for him to resist. Taking Greta's safety into account… it didn't take Conrart long to surmise exactly how things had played out.

"Where are the criminals?" he asked as he began unraveling the rope, thankful once more for his human blood. In battle it was a bit of a handicap to lack the great powers gifted to all full blooded demon, but in instances like this, with the others unable to so much as touch the human-made object, he was grateful for it. Once he'd completed the task, he let the cord fall to the ground, gently touching the skin of Wolfram's wrists, rubbed red and raw.

"They've been placed in the dungeon, where they will remain until their trial begins," Cecilie answered him, slowly guiding Wolfram so that he could sit down on the bed and rest, but he flinched away from it. Conrart could hardly blame him. "Perhaps we should continue this elsewhere," she lightly suggested, and began heading for the opened door.

Gwendal's voice stopped her. "You think he's capable of standing trial?" he asked, and it was obvious that he was speaking about their young brother, who would be asked for a recounting of the night's events - numerous times - before punishment would be dealt, regardless of how much evidence already stood against them.

"Let's not discuss this now," their mother replied, not turning to face him, focusing a majority of her attention on the Prince, motioning for Greta and Anissina to follow her out into the hall. Conrart went after them, his sword still at hand, eyes quickly glancing around for any more signs of trouble. "Anissina, go and fetch Gisela, please," Celi requested, moving down the corridor to her own set of rooms.

"Of course," the red head agreed, and Conrart immediately took Greta from her, the girl gripping tightly to his shirt and hiding against his side, her tears having stopped, but eyes still wild with terror. Her confident, self-assured demeanor had been wiped away, leaving her looking like the frightened child she'd been when she'd first arrived at the castle.

They entered through their mother's sitting room, crossing over through the candle light into the bedroom, two guards immediately positioning themselves by the doorway. Greta broke free then, dashing over to throw her arms around her father, crystalline tears falling from her eyes again as she buried her face into his shoulder. She was not sobbing this time, crying quietly instead, and Wolfram held onto her tightly, protectively, though his eyes remained dry.

"I'm sorry," Conrart heard his little brother whisper to the dark haired girl, his words soft and barely heard, but an obvious indication of his guilt.

"Wolfram," the Captain tried again, trying to distract himself from his own guilt, the shame that nearly consumed him at the thought of not being able to protect his own younger brother. "Please, tell me what happened," he entreated, and though he already had somewhat of an idea, he needed to know the truth.

"I don't want to talk about it," the blond grumbled quietly, averting his eyes from the taller man, arms still wrapped tightly around his daughter, holding onto her as if he were afraid she'd disappear if he let go for even a moment.

Greta lifted her head, just high enough to exclaim, "They had him on the bed!" She was falling into hysterics again, clearly traumatized by the event. "They had him on the bed and we couldn't get away! They were going to kill us!"

Conrart had his own set of suspicions, ones that told him those men - whoever they were - and been sent here to conduct more than a simple murder, but he kept those thoughts to himself, not wanting to upset the girl further by asking any more questions. He'd have to speak with Gwendal later; no doubt the man would be willing to share the information.

"Greta, dear," Celi cooed, still standing close to her youngest son, moving to pry her granddaughter away from him so that she could hug her comfortingly. "It's alright. Everything's going to be okay now. You're safe," she reassured the girl, leading her over to the large bed. "You should rest. Try to get some sleep."

Greta nodded weakly, climbing up onto the mattress and burying her face into one of the pillows, sniffling softly as her grandmother pulled the warm blankets around her, tucking her in and placing a kiss along her temple. Wolfram merely stood by and watched, his arms hanging limply by his sides now that they'd been freed, his pale, bruised face blank, though in his eyes Conrart could see the great conflict that was swirling around on his insides. The blond boy's breathing was still somewhat irregular, and now that he'd been given time to calm down, the anger that had before been pushed down by indescribable fear was beginning to bubble up.

Gisela was quick to enter not even a minute later, rushing in and panting for breath as if she'd run from one side of the palace to the other at full speed, a satchel of medical supplies at hand. She hadn't bothered changing from her nightclothes, her green hair mussed and falling out of it's braid, and she looked every bit as disheveled as the Prince in her haste. The look on her face immediately eased upon seeing that both Prince and Princess were alive and no longer in danger, and she looked over the two of them for any serious injuries, leaving Greta to get some rest when she was confident she'd suffered from nothing more than bruises.

She moved to Wolfram next, speaking to him carefully, her voice not nearly as threatening as Conrart knew it could be, neither shouting orders at him nor asking any questions. "I'll need you to remove your nightgown, Your Majesty," she said, wanting to see the full extents of his wounds, Lady Celi flitting about her room, searching for something else for Wolfram to wear after his tattered nightdress was disposed of.

Wolfram looked ready to argue for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest as if to guard himself from the green haired woman, but in the end he did what was requested of him. Only when he'd slipped the dilapidated pink material over his head and let it fall to a thin heap on the floor was Conrart hit with an inexpressible feeling of deficiency, an anger at himself for not preventing all that had occurred. Wolfram was covered in bruises, from his face to his shoulders, and from his chest down to his thighs, dark splotches of blues and purples that stood out brightly from skin that had gone too pale.

Gisela did what she could for him, taking the pain away with her magic, but unable to do anything to help the contusions fade. Carefully she inspected his hand, the one she'd healed and bandaged only days ago, making sure nothing had been done to further injure it. Once she was satisfied, she allowed him to dress himself, Celi handing him another gown that she'd had one of the maids retrieve from his room, this one dyed a dark peach color, with a string of blue ribbon around the collar. He rushed to slip it on, probably embarrassed by his lack of dress.

"Here," Gisela said when he'd finished, holding out a cup that contained a mixture of hot tea and an herbal remedy that would help him sleep. "Drink this."

He shook his head and backed away, narrowing his eyes at her. "I don't want it," he told her, their mother coming up behind him to place comforting hands on his shoulders.

"It'll help you sleep," Celi informed him, like he didn't know already what the drink's purpose was.

"I said, 'I don't want it,'" he repeated, more adamant this time, pushing the brew away when Gisela drew closer with it. "You can't force me to drink it."

"You need to rest," Gisela tried, but it was apparent that Wolfram wanted none of it.

Still Wolfram refused, and when the older women were unable to convince him to drink it after a few more tries, they let it go, Gisela leaving the concoction on the bedside table just in case before she departed. Celi tried to get her blond son to lay down after that, but Wolfram simply shook his head and moved to take a seat in the chair by one of the windows, listlessly staring out with his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms circling around them as his eyes stared out, his face back to the blank mask that had concealed his emotions before. Conrart watched Celi watch him for a moment, before he was turning to make his own exit.

"I'm going to speak with Gwendal," he informed them, though he hardly thought they'd spare his statement much attention, Wolfram too lost in the mess of his own mind, Greta close to sleep as she curled up under the blankets, and Celi watching over the both of them, seeming as if she would stay up for the rest of the night just to make sure that the two of them were truly okay.

Conrart left them there, shutting the door behind him and crossing back through the sitting room to head into the hallway, nodding to the guards who stood there, glad when he recognized the two of them as two of Gwendal's most trusted men. He didn't know if he'd feel comfortable leaving his family's safety in the hands of people he hardly knew, not after what had happened tonight. Already his thoughts were swirling, trying to come up with ways to further tighten security, to make the palace even safer, when they'd all been fooled into believing that it was safe enough before.

Obviously they'd been wrong.

It had been a long time since Conrart had felt so much shame at one time. He still didn't know the exact details of the attack - though he figured he'd find out soon enough, as Gwendal and the others dissected every moment of the transgression to have as much to charge the criminals with as they possibly could - but it didn't stop the feelings of frustration, it didn't prevent him from feeling as if he'd failed his younger brother and his niece. It had been years since he'd made such a blunder; the last time he remembered making such a huge mistake had been when he'd allied himself with Big Cimaron - something he considered the worst mistake of his entire life.

He'd failed Yuuri then just as he'd failed Yuuri now, and just like then he was determined to make up for it with everything that he had. He'd speak with Gwendal, get the entire story, then request to be the one to interrogate the criminals. He wouldn't be passive, he wouldn't just sit down and calmly ask them questions - part of him didn't even think he could remain calm in this instance, his serene smile now long gone. He'd demand answers, and he'd do whatever it took to get them; he'd find out who sent them, what their objective was, and what the two letters that had been addressed to the king meant.

He'd be damned it he let anyone get this close to the king or his family again.

* * *

Yuuri knew he was dreaming. He was back in that dark, vast, endless void he'd been in so many times before. He felt lighter than he did when he was conscious, weightless, as if this place lacked any real substance, though he could feel his spirit flowing through him, the blood and energy that always made him feel so alive. He felt as if the pressure he'd been under recently had faded away with the real world, despite knowing what his dreams could possibly bring, easily remembering the last dream that had started out within this sea of total blackness.

Inwardly he was somewhat disappointed. After spending two days thinking of what he and Shori had discussed in the restaurant, the long night hours filled with the battles of an internal conflict instead of the slumber he desperately wanted, he desired nothing more than to float in oblivion, to rest his eyes, his mind, his soul, and wake up refreshed and rejuvenated. He didn't want to be bothered by dreams or nightmares, no matter how harmless they ended up being. He just wanted an escape, wanted to fall into a sleep so deep he would lose the awareness he had of everything around him.

He was almost frightened to open his eyes. He knew where he was without even having to look. There was a certain feeling he always got when he'd fallen this far into his subconscious, a sense of pure power - everywhere - running around and through him. It had once been comforting, warm, like being cradled in his mother's arms, like the rays of the sun on a warm spring day. As the years had passed, and as his dreams had grown progressively more violent and graphic, that warmth had given way to a bone-deep chill which always succeeded in causing a shiver to trail down his spine.

It was here that he'd seen Lady Julia so many times in the past, and though he'd often found it odd that he was, in a sense, talking to himself in the times that he'd conversed with her, her presence had always been a tranquil one, one he'd been able to feel inside of him even in a conscious state once he'd been made aware of it. She'd eased his mind in times of trouble, empowered him when he was at his weakest, encouraged him when his spirits were at their lowest, and gave him the strength to sort through his troubles.

He couldn't feel her now, so he knew that if he allowed his eyes to open, she wouldn't be there with that look of serenity on her pale face and kind words that always managed to ease his pained heart. Instead he felt nothing but the cold, and it was discomforting. Every other time he'd needed her guidance, she'd always been there. Why wasn't she there for him now?

Shori's words had gone a long way in making him think things through over in the last couple of days, but the discussion they'd had had not eased Yuuri's confusion in the least, nor had it helped to alleviated his guilt. He'd come to accept certain things that had worsened his issues in the Great Demon Kingdom, knew now that he had to do more if he were ever to fix this mess that had developed between he and Wolfram. It made him uncertain, to be thinking about a deepening of their relationship, and the fear was still there - part of him suspected it would always be there - but along with that fear and uncertainty was a determination to see this through to the very end, to find the answers and come to a final, definite conclusion.

A part of him was still doubtful that he'd ever be able to do that.

Discovering that he was attracted to Wolfram would be easy, but trying to find out if he was in love or not… he didn't even know what love was supposed to feel like. How was he to know if what he felt for the boy was love or not?

Was there even an answer?

It wasn't long before Yuuri's eyes began to flutter, and though he had no desire to be sucked into the nightmares that so often left him feeling sick, he couldn't squelch the curiosity that was slowly building up within him. Nothing had happened in this plane of existence so far tonight, and that thought struck him as rather odd. Never before had he been here without bearing witness to some figment of his imagination, whether it was of the threatening sort or not. It seemed strange to him that he was not hearing or feeling anything, when his senses had always been pretty active even in an unconscious state.

Dark eyes finally slid open, slowly, like they did when he awakened from a long night of sleep. The only light was the pillar of white shining down upon him, the same spotlight that trailed above his figure every time he walked through this black field. This time, however, instead of he being the sole occupant of the circle of brightness, four mirrors surrounded him, one in the front, one on each side, and one behind him, each reflecting his image. He was in the bedclothes he'd fallen asleep in, the dark blue flannel pants and shirt he'd earlier pulled out of one of his drawers, the thick fabric doing nothing to shield him from the ominous chill that hung in the air.

For a moment he wondered what significance these mirrors had, why his mind had conjured them up in place of fire, blood and death. He rotated in a clockwise motion, staring first at the mirror directly across from him, and when he cocked his head to the side he watched his reflection copy the movement. He turned to his right and made a goofy face, allowing himself a second's worth of laughter, his chuckles echoing loudly, reverberating around him. To the right again, where he simply stared, and then again, only to narrow his eyes in slight frustration, not understanding what these four pieces of glass could possibly mean.

Once more he moved, back to the first looking-glass, intent on stepping closer to inspect it, but he stopped before he could take a step foreword, surprised when his mirror-image no longer met his gaze. His eyes widened, his lips parting inquisitively, another picture having faded into focus to obstruct his view of himself.

It was his bedroom in the Great Demon Kingdom, lit by the soft glowing of candles, the angle of the picture giving him a clear view of the bed, vanity, and doorway, as if a camera had been set up by the tall windows. The canopy was neatly made with thick winter dressings, the green privacy curtains tied to each post, the door was shut so he could not see into the hallway, and all of the objects on the vanity were neatly lined and stacked, as if the maids had just come in to clean and Wolfram hadn't been given a chance to make a mess of things yet.

Stepping closer to the mirror, Yuuri narrowed his eyes in order to peer closer, trailing them over the image as if looking for something suspicious, something different from the norm, perhaps an object or presence that was not meant to be there. Nothing of the sort jumped out at him, at least not right away, until the gaze swept over the chair that had been set up a short distance away from the bed, not quite in the corner, but backed up enough to be out of the way. The thing he found odd about it was that it was not one of the simple wooden chairs he used while sitting at the table when he chose to have his meals brought to his room, but an ornately carved rocking chair, moving to and fro in a soft squeaking noise that should have been annoying, but ended up sounding strangely comforting instead.

Wolfram was seated in the chair, clothed in the familiar pink nightgown that Yuuri would admit to finding strangely cute, his golden curls hanging about his face, his emerald gaze focused downward. At his feet was Greta, her nightclothes as equally pink and frilly, her own dark curls tumbling over her thin shoulders, her eyes scanning over the pages of a book, seeming engrossed in whatever tale was being weaved through its pages. It was a heartwarming scene, one that brought a smile to Yuuri's face. It cheered him to see them safe and healthy. Slowly he reached out a hand to touch the cold, smooth glass, feeling almost as if he could reach into the image and touch them as he did so.

His blond friend was smiling, not a smirk or a triumphant grin, not the small, reassuring smiles that lacked real feeling, but a genuine smile. It was slight and barely there, his lips lightly quirked at the corners, but it still managed to reach his eyes, causing the green to sparkle in a way Yuuri had never seen before. There was so much emotion on his pale face at that moment, and yet he looked so different than he normally did when consumed by such strong feelings. His eyes were not narrowed in anger, nor were his thin golden brows furrowed in frustration. His mouth was not arched downwards in sadness, nor did he appear to be suffering from the pains of betrayal.

Instead he looked relaxed and content. In all the years Yuuri had known him, never before had he seen the other boy truly content. There had been a few instances, when they'd both basked in moments of serenity, of peacefulness, sitting beside one another and quietly enjoying the sunrise on a few of their journeys, or standing on one of the balconies to gaze up at the stars, but there had still been a certain tension in the other boy, a strain or pressure that had kept him from being completely calm. Here he was as Yuuri had never seen him, as he wished with all his heart to see him: happy. Wolfram was happy, there in that room with Greta close by, and it filled Yuuri's heart with an unmistakable joy.

"_Hey, Wolfram,"_ he heard the reflection of Greta say, the brown haired girl looking up from her book to glance over her shoulder at her father. _"When is Yuuri coming home?"_

Instead of growing upset - as Yuuri had immediately suspected he would - or angry at the king's apparent absence, Wolfram's smile widened slightly as he focused on whatever had become the center of his attention, his eyes still cast downward. _"Soon,"_ he replied, voice lacking the hard edge that usually disrupted it's youthful smoothness.

"_How soon?"_ Greta wondered, her longing to see her other father fairly obvious, and Yuuri momentarily felt guilty for leaving her behind so much.

"_A day or two more,"_ Wolfram replied easily, still rocking to and fro, to and fro, never disrupting the rhythm of the chair's creaking. _"He has a long way to travel. Even so he'll be earlier than expected," _and here his smile widened again, obviously pleased. _"The negotiations with Cimaron must have gone well."_

'Negotiations' - if there was ever a word that filled Yuuri with such a great sense of relief, it was that one.

"_So is the war ending?"_ their daughter continued to voice her curious questions.

"_I assume it's nearly the end, although that doesn't mean the fighting will stop all together. I'm sure there will still be a skirmish every once in a while."_

"_But does this mean I can go visit Beatrice this summer?"_

Yuuri found himself smiling at her inquiries, recalling how many times Greta had asked to go see her best friend in just the last year alone. With the current crisis they'd been a bit reluctant to let her travel so far without them, even with a troop of soldiers to ensure her safety.

"_You'll have to ask Yuuri,"_ Wolfram replied, which earned a slight pout from the brown haired girl. Perhaps she worried her dark haired father wouldn't give in so easily.

The nineteen year old Japanese man continued to watch, eyes locked on their two forms, before he finally shifted his gaze to find what Wolfram was staring at so intently. His dark eyes widened when he realized that the blond was holding something, and by the looks of it he held it fairly close to his person, cradled in his arms and pressed near his chest. Briefly Yuuri wondered what it could possibly be, although he had his suspicions, none of which he could quite comprehend. There were only so many things someone would cradle so delicately, the most common of those being a pet… or a child.

And just as that thought ran through his mind, the image in the glass began to fade, and though Yuuri pressed closer, his nose nearly bumping against the reflective surface, he was unable to make out what the form in Wolfram's arms looked like. Wolfram and Greta were shown perfectly clear, even as they began to slowly disappear, but the object in the blond's grasp was nothing more than a blur, its shape and appearance indiscernible to the dark haired young man. He cursed once the picture had lost focus completely, and he was left staring at his own face again, eyes narrowed in consternation.

Swiftly he turned to the next mirror, pivoting to his right again, hoping perhaps the scene had just moved to be played out through one of the other three, only to be disappointed at the obvious difference in setting. There was, indeed, an image projected on the glass, and though it was that of a bedroom, it was not of his room in the Great Demon Kingdom, nor of any room in Blood Pledge Castle. He'd never seen those walls before, or that bed - whose canopy curtains were a deep red instead of green, its blankets black as death - and though the decorations and furnishings were just as lavish as those in his private living quarters, it was all unfamiliar.

There was a desk along one wall, with bookshelves on either side, another shelf suspended above it, all sorts of volumes and novels crammed together, each spine a different color, each in a different state of ware. The stone floor was covered with rich, dark scarlet rugs, so soft and thick Yuuri imagined his feet would sink right into them. Half a table could be seen, one chair not completely slid beneath it, and a few trays of barely eaten food covering its surface. On the wall opposite the desk hung a mirror, and below that a vanity, with all sorts of perfumes, colognes and hair ribbons strewn about.

In the chair before the vanity sat Wolfram, only he looked different this time, the face staring into the hanging mirror showing an expression of sadness instead of the satisfaction and joy Yuuri had seen earlier, green eyes dull, with hardly any life in them. His blond hair was longer than the demon king had ever remembered seeing it, falling an inch or so passed his shoulders in loose curls and waves, his slender hands sliding a brush through it almost without thought. He didn't appear any older, certainly no taller or broader than he was now, but there was still an air about him that made it seem as if he'd aged, as if a dark cloud was hanging over his head, one people didn't normally carry unless they'd been through some kind of harsh ordeal or traumatic experience.

It broke Yuuri's heart to see him like that, especially after witnessing the complete opposite not even five seconds ago, and he was so tempted to reach out to him, to brush his growing bangs out of his face and wrap his arms around him, anything to take that forlorn look of depression away. He would have, if only there were some way to go through the mirror, would have done anything in the world to comfort his friend at that moment, to get him to laugh, to smile. As it was, he could only remain standing there, watching, transfixed, eyes locked on the blond's slender frame.

He was wearing some kind of a nightdress Yuuri didn't recall him owning, the silky white fabric clinging to his torso then falling down to his ankles, two thin straps the only thing keeping it in place. Yuuri thought his choice of dress to be somewhat out of character. Though it still managed to cover a majority of his pale skin, it was far more revealing than any of the outfits the king had seen him wear. Of course, he looked beautiful. Yuuri didn't think there was anything he could do to change that, the pure white of the gown only lighter than the hue of his skin by a shade or two, the color making Wolfram look angelic, untainted by the harsh years he'd been raised in, and infinitely more vulnerable.

Yuuri wasn't sure he liked that.

The door that lead into the projected room was suddenly swung open, though the Wolfram in the picture hardly flinched at all, merely went on dully brushing his hair. The nineteen year old was a bit frustrated when he couldn't make out the extra figure clearly; this time instead of a blur in the place of a living body, it was a shadowy form, its build indicating confidence and raw power. Whoever it was would have towered over the blond even if the boy had been standing, and the width of his shoulders was at least twice as broad. Heavy footfalls resounded in the room as the shape entered, the door shutting just as harshly as it had been opened.

"_I'm sorry to keep you waiting, my love, but I had some very important business to attend to. Wars are such trying times, and they can be so tedious,"_ the figure said in a deep, intimidating, undeniably male voice, his tone condescending, patronizing, and dripping with feigned sweetness. Approaching the bed, he appeared to be removing some article of clothing, haphazardly flinging it across the room. _"And what did you do to entertain yourself today?"_

Wolfram remained silent, making no move to indicate he'd even heard the other man, his vacant gaze remaining locked on the mirror before him.

"_No walks in the garden? No time spent tinkling away at the piano in the ballroom? No long, luxuriating baths to ease the mind and body?"_ the shadow of a man wondered, moving then to walk towards the blond.

Silence again, though the blond slowly lowered the brush onto the vanity, then remained still in his chair.

"_Nothing?"_ were the continued questions, until the dark form stood behind the shorter young man, leaning down to brush some of his golden hair away in order to trail what Yuuri could only assume were his lips against the skin of Wolfram's neck. The blond shivered in reaction, his face morphing into a revolted expression, clear indication that he was not enjoying the attention.

Yuuri wanted very much to go in there and pull that man away from his friend, stop him from doing something that Wolfram was obviously uncomfortable with, but he could do nothing more than helplessly watch. Part of him spared a thought as to why the older boy wasn't retaliating, pushing the unwanted touch away with a vicious snarl and snapping insults into the man's face. It disgusted him to see Wolfram being treated as some sort of… concubine, and he was struck with the sudden realization that the green eyed noble had probably been forced there - and into that gown, no less - against his will.

By why? What had happened? What had changed so much between the last happy image and now?

"_He hasn't come for you,"_ the figure whispered, so softly Yuuri had to strain to hear it, but when he was able to pick out the words, to process them, his heart skipped a beat and nearly fell right out of his chest, thinking he had a pretty good idea who 'he' was. _"My informants haven't even spotted him leaving the castle, even though by now I suspect he knows exactly where you are. The traitor's been caught and is awaiting his trial. No doubt he's divulged all our dirty little secrets in order to escape a painful death, although his crimes befit the punishment of execution."_

Wolfram's shoulders trembled, his hands balling into fists, but still he said nothing, nor did he make a move to extricate himself from the man's presence.

"_I guess it's obvious now how little you mean to him,"_ the shadowy man crooned, his smirk apparent in his voice, a ghostly black appendage moving to slide one of the tiny little straps off of a narrow shoulder, the nearly nonexistent piece of fabric sliding down the blond's arm easily. _"He's happier without you,"_ he nearly chuckled, amused by the heartbreak his words were causing. _"When will you finally let go of your foolish hope and give yourself to me?"_

"_Never,"_ Wolfram's voice was small, but that one word still held within it a bit of his old spark, his determination, and the perseverance Yuuri envied him for.

"_And yet you'll knowingly betray your king, reveal the secrets of your country's defenses to my war council, and forsake your own people to certain annihilation?"_ he wondered, sounding genuinely surprised. _"You'll commit treason as an act of revenge on those who hurt you, intentionally disclose confidential information about your kingdom to a man who attempted to rape and murder you, and yet you still refuse to willingly come to my bed?"_

Yuuri's heart pounded in his chest at those words, a pit of dread forming at the bottom of his stomach, mind swirling and body heavy, sweat breaking out along his brow. He gulped, not fully understanding what it was they were discussing, but not liking the sound of it at all. What was going on? What was that man talking about? What had happened to make Wolfram do as he claimed?

"_I don't love you,"_ the blond's voice was still just as quiet as it had been the moment he first spoke, though now it was wavering slightly, and when Yuuri looked at his pale face, he saw eyes in a state he'd sworn never to cause again: filled with tears.

"_And you still love _him_?"_ the imposing figured wondered acidly, as if he were hardly able to believe what he was hearing. _"He's humiliated you, betrayed you, proved over and over again that he does not return your feelings, but you continue to love him anyway?"_ He scoffed, standing back up to move away from the smaller boy, disgusted. _"One day I'll make you realize how absolutely ludicrous you are, and then it will be my name you're calling out in your sleep."_

"No," the demon king heard his own voice then, the word spoken as softly as Wolfram's words had been uttered, watching as the shadowy figure left the room, slamming the door behind him. He watched, brokenly, as Wolfram folded his arms against the vanity, staring at his reflection in the mirror for a moment before lowering his head to rest upon them, the shaking of his shoulders increasing as he finally allowed his tears to fall.

Again the scene faded, leaving Yuuri staring at himself, tears in his own eyes as he thought of what could have possibly driven Wolfram away, what had left him so shattered. His hands trembled as he dropped his fingers away from the glass, gnashing his teeth together in an effort to control his sudden anger at himself; somehow he didn't doubt it was his fault.

He almost didn't turn to the next mirror, this dream, though infinitely less violent, was leaving him just as shaken as his nightmare had, and it had all gone downhill in such a short period of time. Perhaps that's why it was affecting him so badly. One minute he'd seen Wolfram happy, sitting in their room comfortably with Greta, and the next he'd been a shell of the boy he used to be, emotionally crippled beyond repair. If he had to see something like that again, he didn't think he'd be able to stop from crying; and even if the next image was another happy one, he'd never be able to forget that man's words.

He turned anyway, face blanching almost immediately.

The scene shown to him now was one set outside, the trees devoid of their leaves, wind blowing through thin, gangly branches, sky an overcast gray. The ground was unhealthy, grass giving way to patches of dirt, and in the very center of the picture rested a marble gravestone, solitary on a hill, the names and dates of the deceased blurred so that he was unable to read the words that had been etched into the stone, but he didn't need to know who it was to feel dread consume him. Greta, Lady Celi, and Gwendal were the only ones who stood before it, looking down upon it solemnly, the two women openly weeping, and Gwendal appearing more somber than usual.

In the background, along with the harsh gusts of wind, Yuuri could hear someone screaming. _"I'm sorry!" _they shouted. _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!"_ they repeated, over and over again, until their voice went raw and inevitably gave out. It sounded so familiar, and yet so different at the same time, and with it distorted by harsh, gut wrenching sobs and the billowing breeze, it was hard for him to discern who it belonged to.

Yuuri didn't even wait for the picture to fade this time, turning away from it before any more could be revealed, moving to glance at the last mirror, somewhat relieved when the image staring back at him did not contain any of his friends. For a moment he wondered why he was staring at himself again, why the glass hadn't changed to show him something else, but when he moved to look closer and noticed how the reflection didn't copy his motions, he understood.

Staring back at him was a person he'd never seen before, but who's presence he knew all too well. Black hair that had once hung longer than his - but that was now nearly the same length, thanks to years of growing his own hair out - framed a face identical to his own. The eyes were the same, only narrowed, and he was sure he'd never appeared quite that cunning. The young man looking back at him with his lips quirked up in a smirk was not wearing pajamas, but the dark uniform he'd been wearing since high school.

"What are you doing here?" Yuuri immediately asked the Great Demon King, carefully taking in the sight of him, memorizing the look of the entity that sprung forth in his anger, the one who took advantage of his unconscious state and ran havoc on the world.

"_What are _you_ doing here?"_ the Demon King questioned in return, his smirk widening in amusement. _"Why wouldn't I be here?"_ he continued before the other double black could reply, making no move to escape the mirror and further approach.

"I don't need you anymore," the younger looking of the two pointed out, narrowing his own eyes in a hint of anger. _"_Get out of my head and stop making me overreact to everything all the time. You've caused nothing but trouble."

"_Trouble?"_ his alternate persona wondered curiously, deep voice echoing slightly, while Yuuri's remained normal and unchanged. _"Defending the innocent has caused trouble?"_ he chortled lightly, entertained by his proclamations. _"I've only done what you wish of me. You've had complete control all along."_

"That isn't true! You take over and you make me do awful things to people! I don't care whether they're innocent or not, that doesn't give you any right to hurt them!"

His chuckling evolved into all out laughter. _"Still so very ignorant. Does denial comfort you, my friend?"_ he questioned, dark eyes slit and cat-like, almost glowing despite being so dark, raw power practically swirling around him. _"I have never made you do anything. You control me, when I'm released, how I deal my justice. It's all because of you."_

Yuuri would have argued again if he had any delusions that his words wouldn't be discredited and thrown back into his face. "What are you?" the more innocent of the two asked instead, becoming a bit agitated.

"_I am you."_

"Don't give me any of that sci-fi television bullshit!"

"_You refuse to believe me,"_ the Great Demon King said, his words more a statement than a question. _"I_am_ you. I am your anger and your hate, I am everything you've never allowed yourself to feel. _You_ created me, a part of yourself, but we are still one person. There is no you without me, just as there is no me without you."_

"I don't understand."

"_You don't have to," _he was reassured. _"Whether you understand or not has no effect on what is real and what is false."_

Yuuri fell silent for just a second, trying to work his mind around the other's words, but when it continued to prove difficult to comprehend he shook it from his head, choosing to move passed it and focus on other things. "What was that just now? In those mirrors. What did all that mean?"

"_It was the future."_

Part of him had figured that out as he'd been watching, but that didn't mean it made any sense, "The future? But why? Why would I… dream of something like that?"

"_You have to make a choice. Each of those futures is as possible as the next. Your actions will affect which one inevitably comes to pass."_

"But why am I being shown something like that?" the dark haired boy asked - and he truly felt like a boy when confronted with a side of himself that seemed far more intelligent and sophisticated.

The Great Demon King shook his head as if he were somewhat exasperated that Yuuri still didn't understand. _"You have powers buried deep inside you that you couldn't possibly comprehend. We - you and I,"_ he clarified_, "make up a king greater than any that have been born before. More powerful than Queen Cecilie, than King Eberhart or FAncelin, stronger than even the Original King himself. Within us lies a power so great we could destroy the world if we chose._" He paused, his cunning smile returning. _"But of course, we don't want that."_

The Japanese boy shivered, the chill in the air forcing another tingle down his spine, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself, his trembling caused both by the cold and the information he was being given. Though he knew that at the level he was at right now, he could never hope to accomplish what the Maou had told him he was capable of, the fact that he even had that power inside of him, however deep it was buried, disconcerted him more than anything else he'd learned about himself so far.

Why would he be given powers like that? Why would anyone even want them?

The only thing he wanted was for his family and friends to be happy, but that happiness couldn't possibly be achieved through super human strength, of that he was more than certain. So then what the hell was the purpose of possessing something that couldn't do any good?

"_You think about things far too much,"_ the man in the mirror told him, as if he could read his mind, and if he was correct in saying that they were one in the same, then he most likely could. Perhaps his words could even be found in part of Yuuri's mind, ignored, obscured by other things, but still there, hidden inside of himself.

"The first one," Yuuri quickly spat out, watching the other lift one curious eyebrow. "How do I get the future to be like the first mirror, the one with Wolfram and Greta and…" he trailed off. The image had faded before he'd been able to make out anything else of great importance.

"_Ignorant_ and_ foolish,"_ the more imposing man said with another chuckle at Yuuri's expense._"You can't choose which future to create. It's the choices you make in life that will effect whether or not your path leads to the one you desire."_

"How will I know if I'm making the right choice?"

"_You won't,"_ was the short, simple reply.

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?!" Yuuri suddenly exploded, nearing his limit when it came to dealing with this man, whose word sounded more like riddles than anything that made any sort of sense, allowing himself to curse far more harshly than he usually did when confronted with so much frustration. "Why the hell are you doing this to me?! Do you enjoy seeing me so confused all the time?!"

"_What is it that makes you think I'm doing anything?"_ the Demon King wondered, some of the arrogance seeping out of his deep voice. _"I am in no way responsible for the conflict currently raging inside of you, inside of us,"_ he told the boy. _"Your confusion is my confusion."_

Yuuri stared at him critically, as if trying to decide if he should believe him or not. Finally, he settled on asking, almost as if he were testing him, "How do I feel about Wolfram?"

"_I don't know,"_ was the three word reply, the very words he'd said to his brother two days ago.

"How do _you _feel about Wolfram?"

The other frowned, but answered anyway. _"I don't know."_

"Are you attracted to him?"

"_Are you?"_

Again there was silence, and Yuuri thought the Demon King was either simply playing some kind of stupid game with him, or he really was speaking honestly. He couldn't decide, had no idea what was true or not, and could only continue to hold his suspicions. It was agitating, not being able to understand anything, especially when he was already confused enough as it was. Being unable to make sense of any of this certainly wasn't helping him in the least. If anything it was only increasing his confusion, as he again wondered why he was even dreaming something like this. For a moment he couldn't tell which he preferred, this constant bafflement or his nightmares. At least in his nightmares he knew what to expect.

"I don't know what I want," he admitted after a while, averting his gaze to the dark ground beneath him - or what he assumed was the ground, since it felt solid beneath his feet, although the black color that prevailed in this plane was the same no matter where he looked. "I don't know how I feel. I don't know what to do. I don't know why everything's happening now, and I'm not sure how to deal with it."

"_And you think I do?"_

"You always have before."

"_I only do what you wish of me,"_ the Demon King said again. _"In truth, you're conscious of everything I do, although you may push it down and hide it, refuse to acknowledge it, burying it deep inside you the same way you bury everything else you'd rather not accept about yourself."_

Yuuri snorted, but gave no other form of reply.

"_Perhaps it's time you returned," _his counterpart suggested, his tone serious. _"You've run away long enough. It's time you started standing on your own two feet and stopped relying on everyone to help you. You were correct in saying that you no longer have need of me. You must now lessen your need for the others, and handle your responsibilities like a true king."_

"But what if I'm not ready?" the dark haired boy wondered quietly, voice small and unsure of himself, sounding like he had at age fifteen, when he'd understood even less than he did now.

"_Why would you no longer need me if you weren't ready? Look inside of yourself. You know you are. The confidence you've relegated to me flows through you as well. You merely have to accept it; accept your hate, accept your anger, move passed the ignorance you've blinded yourself with for so many years. Free yourself of your denial. Only then will you and I truly be one."_

It made so much sense, and yet at the same time it made none at all.

It wasn't long at all before the Demon King's image faded away, and Yuuri was left staring at his own reflection again, one so similar to the figure that had previously been standing before him that it was hardly much of a change at all from one to the other. When he was gone and Yuuri was staring into black eyes stinging with frustrated tears instead of fearlessness and shrewdness, he leaned his forehead against the cold glass, then closed his dark eyes against the blackness.

One by one the mirrors disappeared, and he slowly returned to consciousness.

* * *

Wolfram sat dispiritedly in the king's office, his back rigid as his eyes listlessly scanned over the papers before him, discarding some as unimportant or not worthy of his time, signing others that he felt held more value. Slowly he scrawled his name across each sheet, looking at the way the ink looped and twisted around, bleeding into and then drying on the rough parchment. He'd been at this for nearly three hours now, lead in here by his oldest brother shortly after lunch - which he'd eaten little of - and he hadn't had a break since.

Not that he minded at all. There was nothing better to do around the castle at the moment, so he hardly cared that he was stuck doing all of Yuuri's work. Anything was fine as long as it distracted him for more than a moment, as long as it could prevent him from thinking about dark hair, searching hands, and malicious intent. Stacks of paperwork were more welcome to him than going over the event in his head once more, pointing out all the things he could have done differently, all the ways in which he could have escaped if only he'd tried harder.

If only he hadn't been so scared.

He gritted his teeth harshly as his fingers fisted around the quill in his hands, lips pulled into a frown that had not eased a bit in the last forty-eight hours. Two days and two nights had passed him by, each dawn bringing with it a new sunrise, and a new layer to his ever-growing self-hatred.

Fear was not an emotion he felt comfortable admitting to, not even to himself, because it meant he invariably suffered from some sort of weakness. After spending so much of his life trying to catch up to his older brothers, he didn't need yet another reminder of how much he'd failed to reach his goal. Conrart was still the better swordsman, Gwendal still more attuned with and in better control of his magic, still the better politician, both still far more respected than he. Neither of the two older men would have been as caught off guard as he inevitably was. Neither of them would have been too powerless to stop such a thing from happening to them.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, this jealousy and self-revulsion, and he hated himself all the more for it, because even that was another testament to his inferior abilities, his flaws, which kept adding on to one another one by one. He felt so feeble compared to everyone else, so inadequate, this most recent attack throwing into sharp realization just how meager his skills - and experience - actually were. And though some part of him had known all along how much he was lacking, to have it thrown into his face like that was mortifying, to say the least.

He could still remember that man's dark chuckles.

He hadn't slept a wink since then, had drifted in and out of consciousness a few times, but he'd always snapped awake quickly thereafter, knowing what sorts of things would visit him in his dreams. Gisela had tried to get him to drink a sleeping-aid each night, but he outright refused, and had even gone so far as to snatch the cup from her and splash the substance all over her uniform when she'd pushed it on him last night. He knew what it was, what it contained, what it would do, had been taking the same thing for years, since the last war, when sleep had been hard to come by. It's what had always caused him to sleep so deeply, to fall into the world of dreams so quickly. He didn't want that anymore, not if it left him so vulnerable.

His mother had been with him nearly twenty-four/seven - she was with him now, standing near by, as if with her very presence she could protect him. He would have appreciated her care and concern if he weren't so angry, if he didn't want to prove to himself now more than ever that he could be just as strong, and just as able as his two brothers. Instead of clinging to her still, as he had in the aftermath of the attack, he ignored her. He'd been ignoring most everyone recently, with the only exception being Greta, though when she tried to bring up anything concerning that night, he immediately forced her into silence.

He didn't want to talk to anyone about anything that had happened, preferred to place it far out of his mind, though he knew he'd never be able to forget. Never. But when the Aristocrats came to question him, when his mother voiced her anxiousness and concern for his well being, when Gwendal or Conrart tried to get him to tell his version of the events, he refused to speak, and only spoke enough words to order them away. The Aristocrats were angered over his unwillingness, Gwendal was embittered, and everyone else either didn't know what to do with him or was too afraid to try.

What he really wanted to do, however, more than anything else, was to weep, to curl up in a corner somewhere and sob until he had no tears left to shed, scream until his voice gave out on him, and hide himself from the world and never show his face again. People whispered his name in the halls, the rumors already circulating, speculations being made, his character assessed and history looked into as everyone tried to come up with some reason for the attack. The criminals themselves had barely spoken a word, though they'd been threatened with torture and eventual execution by all who questioned them, so the nobles were left to come up with their own answers. None of them had been especially kind.

But Wolfram refused to allow himself another breakdown, no matter how strong the urge, no matter how ashamed or violated he felt, and he looked to his anger for salvation. He was a man, not a child. He could handle this, he could forget about it and move on without anyone's help. He didn't need his mother to coddle him anymore, didn't need Conrart to keep asking him if he were alright. He didn't need anyone's sympathy or feigned understanding, didn't need their piteous looks. He just needed the memories to go away, and the terror to ease out of his heart.

Even now, those who were closest to him refused to leave him alone. His mother stood close to the wall to his right, where the large map of the Great Demon Kingdom and its territories proudly hung. Gwendal was before him, not even a foot away from the edge of the desk, his imposing form casting a shadow down upon the wooden surface as the blond worked, his frown deeper than it had been in years, his face showing a few more wrinkles - which their mother hadn't even bothered to point out this time. Gunter stood behind the dark haired man, just as silent and brooding, and there was not a sign of his overabundant joy or annoying theatrics. The Great Sage leaned against the wall to his left, the human's sharp gaze making him feel decidedly uncomfortable.

He didn't want them in here, preferred to be alone, but Gwendal's presence, at least, was necessary if he were to go through all these papers. Never before had he understood what made Yuuri so despondent at the idea of doing paperwork, but now he could quite easily say that it was definitely not one of his favorite activities. Even with his extensive education, the carefully constructed documents confused him, with their considerably long sentences and use of vocabulary that even he was not extremely familiar with. It required patience and a careful eye, neither of witch he'd ever been in abundant possession of.

He'd just finished signing another of the endless sheets of paper when the sullen mood in the room suddenly changed, the tension leaping up as Gwendal quickly snatched the next document away from him. Wolfram glanced up at the taller man, face blank but eyes curious, wondering for a moment if he'd just been about to approve of something he shouldn't have. His questioning gaze was answered when his older brother moved two piles to the side of the desk so that they were out of the way, calmly placing a new sheet of parchment before him. He easily recognized the blue eyed man's writing, and knew that he had been the one to draft it.

"What is this?" he asked, eyes scanning over it but not really reading any of the words.

Gwendal's frown lowered more, his gaze steady and sure. "It's a Declaration of War."

Wolfram was floored, and his breathing immediately began to pick up, his heart thudding loudly within his chest and ears. Unconsciously he dropped the quill, green eyes widening as they surveyed the document a second time.

The words were explicitly clear.

"_We, the people of the Kingdom of the Great Demon Kingdom, henceforth declare War upon the Kingdoms of Cimaron, Anselm, Balderic and their allies, in response to their attacks upon the populace and the Royal Crown."_

"What?" the blond asked, stunned, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"We received word from Yozak that the humans have further advanced on our borders," Gunter explained rationally, far more calm than Gwendal could ever hope to be in this situation. "They've crossed over, and have set up an encampment a day's journey in. The people are beginning to riot, Your Majesty. They want to know what is being done to prevent them from moving further into our lands."

'_No,'_ Wolfram thought. _'They stopped progressing foreword weeks ago. They shouldn't be advancing until winter ends.'_

"I…" he began, but didn't quite know what to say, his mind having gone blank, all thought leaving him as he continued to stare down at the incriminating paper. "We could… we could send a troop of soldiers out to strengthen the border," he weakly suggested, knowing that wouldn't be enough. "We don't have to resort to this. We don't even know if Belar really is the one conducting these attacks."

"You honestly think sending one unit to the border will be enough?" Gwendal wondered, his disbelief easily recognizable.

"Two then."

"They'll be severely outnumbered. A mission like that will only result in the annihilation of the entire force. It would be suicidal and non-effective."

"But… there has to be something else…" Wolfram tried again, all the while knowing that every argument he could possibly pose would be in vain.

"The people want this madness to stop, Wolfram!" Gwendal shouted at him this time, blue eyes glaring down at him, his tall, broad figure appearing more intimidating than ever before, and Wolfram felt a bit like a small boy again, staring up at his much older, much larger brother with a mixture of admiration and fear. "You and His Majesty have ignored this problem long enough, foolishly believing that talking with the enemy will solve everything, when it is glaringly obvious that they have _no_ intention of talking."

"You can't expect me to sign this," the Prince said, voice remaining weak and breathless.

"You want to allow them to slowly take over instead?" Lord von Voltaire questioned him, gruff and harsh. "Because that's exactly what they'll do if we don't stop them _right now_!! This is no time for you to continue the king's pacifistic ways! You're both idealistic fools!" he cruelly spat, not seeming to care how his pitiless words were affecting the younger man. "Our men are _dying_, and our women and children are _paying_ for your mistakes."

Slowly Wolfram shook his head, eyes trailing up to meet sapphire again. "I can't…" he told him softly, looking torn, wanting to keep to the promise he'd made to Yuuri, but also unable to ignore the threat he knew was out there. "I won't…"

"You can and you will! This is your country, Wolfram; these are your people!" the darker male passionately declared. "The humans are relentless! They'll keep pushing until they advance on the capital! With what information we already have, I'm sure they've made plans, and there isn't any doubt that they already have some of their men hiding around or within the city!"

"I made a promise to Yuuri…"

"To hell with your promise!" Wolfram jumped when Gwendal pounded one of his closed fists against the top of the desk, and out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother mirror his jolt of surprise, though she said nothing to stop her oldest son. "People are dying unnecessarily! Is that what you want? For our men to be slaughtered, our women raped and tortured, and our children enslaved?"

"Of course not," the blond denied, horrified by the very thought of it.

"You have already been personally attacked, von Bielefeld," the Great Sage pointed out from his place against the wall, and though he had not been present within the palace at the time of the assault - and though he was one of the very few who had yet to try to get Wolfram to speak about it - he was very much aware of the occurrence. "It could very easily happen again."

"No," Wolfram repeatedly shook his head. "No, it won't," he said. "We don't even know who sent those men." Seeing no way to reason with the wise double black, or with the Chief of State for that matter, the Prince turned his anxious green gaze to Yuuri's lavender haired teacher. "You know better than anyone that Yuuri would never agree to this."

Gunter's determination to see this through never faltered, even at mention of his beloved king. "As much as I admire His Majesty for his gentleness and pacifism, it remains true that there are times when bloodshed cannot be prevented. None of us really want this war, Prince von Bielefeld, but the humans refuse to listen to reason. We have no more options left to take. We _must_ stop them immediately before they take control of any more of our land."

Abruptly the pale boy turned to his mother, seeking her understanding of the lessons she'd learned from the mistakes she'd made. "Mother, you can't tell me that you agree with them," he said, surprised that he'd yet to raise his own voice, when inside his thoughts were screaming. "After everything that happened…" he trailed off, watching as she closed her eyes and turned so she wouldn't have to face him.

"We don't have a choice," she quietly replied, still just as deeply affected as he was over the attack against him and Greta.

"Of course we do," he tried, but his voice fell flat even in his own ears. _'Where the hell is Conrart when I need him?'_ he internally wondered. _'He would never agree to this!'_

"Name it then," Gwendal loudly bellowed. "What could we possibly do that we haven't already tried?!"

"I'll speak with Belar personally," he thoughtlessly replied, and when the words reached his ears he was struck by how much he sounded like Yuuri at that moment, parroting statements that he no doubt would have made had he been confronted with this situation, still acting as his faithful little shadow even when he wasn't around.

"The idea is absurd!" Gunter exclaimed, appalled.

"Do you want him to kill you that badly?!" Gwendal barked not even a second after, his voice void of any compassion, filled instead with contempt and revulsion.

"Who says he wants to kill me? You don't know that he sent those men," Wolfram pointed out, hands gripping into tight fists at the mention of the two humans he hated most in this world, men whose names he didn't even know.

"I will not allow you to go gallivanting off to Cimaron to try and make peace with him!" the Chief of State ignored his reply, focusing instead on his suggested intent. "He wants nothing to do with peace and he's made that perfectly clear!"

"I don't want to be responsible for another war. Too many people have already died."

"And they'll keep dying if we don't do something," the Sage countered, a ray of sunlight that drifted in through one of the windows glinting sharply off of the lenses of his glasses. "At least if we fight back we'll stand somewhat of a chance. Our people would rather die fighting that sitting around innocently. If we don't send the army out, they'll retaliate on their own, and that will only lead to disaster."

"But…" Wolfram began, his breaths deep and heavy as sweat began to break out along his temples, fists clenching and releasing spasmodically as he attempted to come up with something to change their minds. There was no way he could do what they were asking of him; he didn't want that sort of responsibility, the knowledge that he had inevitably been the one to send so many men off to their deaths. It would haunt him for the rest of his life. He already had enough ghosts tormenting him in his sleep; he didn't need anymore to add on to it.

"Yuuri will hate me," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, battling with himself, trying to convince himself that this was wrong, when he knew deep down that his brother, Gunter, and the Great Sage were right.

He jumped again when Gwendal reacted to the words he hadn't expected him to hear, the older man's palms slamming against the desk top before him, leaning over the wooden furniture to make sure that the Prince could see the heavy glare being directed at him, the disappointment Gwendal had gleaming in his dark blue eyes. It wasn't disappointment over the fact that he'd yet to get his Declaration signed, it was disappointment directed completely at his younger brother, as if he were ashamed of him.

It hurt Wolfram so much to see that, when he'd worked so hard for so many years to make his older brothers proud of him.

"Is your desire to please His Majesty more important to you than protecting your people?" the darker man hissed, his quieter tone even more threatening than his loud, booming yells. "Are you so blinded by your feelings for him that you can't see what's happening in your own kingdom? We're being taken over, Wolfram!"

"I made a promise!" Wolfram told him, already feeling his will faltering. Was Gwendal looking at him like that because he meant it or because he knew it would effect the blond enough to get him to do as he wished? Was his shame in the younger man genuine, or was he simply taking advantage of his desire to gain his praise in order to sway the Prince's decision? "I gave him my word!"

"Your promise means nothing to those people who've had their lives and families taken! When you married His Majesty, you accepted the responsibilities of a king! Stop trying to run away from them!"

Wolfram couldn't stop the hurt look that crossed his pale face. "This isn't what Yuuri would want!" he cried passionately. "This isn't what I want! Don't you remember what happened in the last war, how much it cost us, how much we lost?! I can't…" he paused, his head moving back and forth, voice slowly growing softer. "I don't want that to happen again. I don't want to be responsible for another war."

"To hell with what you want!" The older man grabbed onto the Prince's collar then, large hand wrinkling the cravat at his throat, lifting him from the chair and pulling him closer, as if he would be unable to get the full effect of his words unless he was standing mere inches away. "_You_ are a selfish, narrow-minded fool! The only thing you've ever care about it yourself! You don't give a damn what happens to anyone else as long as you can have your way!"

"That isn't true," the smaller male denied, at the same time their mother softly called out, "Gwen…" although it did little good to gain Lord von Voltaire's attention, so focused was he on forcing his brother into action.

"I should have never agreed to this marriage!" he continued to fume. "Having a king who is too incapable of making any important decisions is bad enough! Having _you_ as the prince is even worse! You are a weak and insufficient ruler! If you don't do something now, the people will rebel and our kingdom will fall apart!" he warned, and Wolfram didn't doubt that he was right. "Is that what you want your legacy to be? Do you want to be responsible for the end of the demon tribe?!"

Harshly he shoved Wolfram back into his seat, the blond haired boy pale as a ghost. "Now," Gwendal began again, seeming to calm himself down, if only a little. "Pick up your quill and sign your name."

Wolfram averted his gaze, no longer able to look at the expression on his oldest brother's face. "No…" he answered him weakly.

"Do it, Wolfram."

Another shake of the head was his reply.

And just ask quickly as Gwendal's frustrations had seemed to leave him, it returned, his palms connecting with the wooden desktop a second time, Wolfram's flinch more pronounced now than it had been previously. "Do it!" he demanded harshly, his voice far more cruel than it once had been not too long ago, when Wolfram had truly taken orders from him.

The blond's hand shook as he lifted his quill, his trembling easily noticeable as he moved the feather to the ink pot, dabbing it inside until the tip was once more a dark black. His eyes glanced at each of the room's occupants again, seeing Gwendal's determination, the Sage's blank, compassionless stare, and Gunter's anticipation. The only one who showed him any amount of sympathy was his mother, but even she refused to spare him any kind words, keeping quiet and turning away, refusing to say anything to dissuade him.

A drop of onyx liquid dripped onto the desktop, but it went unnoticed by the blond, his green eyes returning to the document that had been set in front of him. The quill hovered over the parchment for a long moment, descending a few millimeters before being quickly lifted back up. The struggle Wolfram went through at that moment was the most difficult of his young life, his mind shouting at him, attempting to convince him that his brother was right, that this was the only way, that he _had_ to do this. Yuuri never would, he knew; instead, the decision was up to him.

But his heart told him something else entirely, and it throbbed painfully with each downward motion, its harsh beating what continued to cause him to jerk his hand back up before it could touch the paper. His heart told him not to, warned him of Yuuri's reaction - what the other boy would no doubt think of him, how this betrayal would make the king feel. With this one action, he'd be throwing all those years of trust and companionship out the window, and any chance of being loved along with it. It would be akin to spitting in the dark haired young man's face, taking the faith he had in him and ripping it into a million little pieces.

He couldn't breath, he couldn't think, he couldn't hear or feel anything.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he finally lowered his hand, the evil chuckling of the human still being contained in a cell in the dungeon filling his mind, mocking him, reigniting his hate and anger.

With a trembling hand he signed the country's fate in a series of curves, loops, and swirls.

_'Prince Wolfram von Bielefeld'_

His heart broke.

Gwendal snatched the sheet of paper away immediately, perhaps thinking Wolfram would quickly think better of the idea and tear it up before it could be distributed. The way the dark haired man's look of anger evened out was evidence to his satisfaction. But Wolfram wasn't satisfied, nor was he proud of himself. He felt sick, his stomach churning, again threatening to rebel, like it had so many times over the last month. Slowly he stood to his feet, opening his eyes to stare at his big brother, the one person who had never let him down, the one man he'd always looked up to.

But Gwendal had betrayed him just like Conrart had, and just as easily, too.

Just like he'd betrayed Yuuri.

'_Yuuri…'_ he thought, quickly backing up, knocking his chair over backwards at the movement, though he hardly cared to bother putting it back in place. _'I'm sorry!'_

"Are you happy now?" he wondered out loud, his voice still weak, cracking with emotion. "You got what you wanted," he said, narrowing his eyes at the older man, not even bothering to hide his pain; he hoped Gwendal could see it, hoped it made him feel guilty, though some part of him doubted Gwendal cared that much. How could he after what he'd just done?

"Yuuri will never forgive me!" he added, his voice raising only slightly, enough to make clear the hurt he felt inside. "_Never_!"

He fled the room then, pushing passed Gwendal and Gunter, paying no attention to Lord von Christ's shout of "Your Majesty!" or the way his mother was calling his name. It was easy to ignore them with the beating of his bleeding heart pounding away in his ears, his mind screaming at him now, as if it had only just realized what he'd mentally talked himself into. He dashed through the door and ran down the hallways, not once looking back. He paid no mind to anyone he passed, not the maids who whispered upon seeing the completely shattered look on his face, nor the guards who immediately became concerned for his safety.

None of that mattered. The only thing he cared about was what he'd just done to Yuuri.

'_I'm sorry…'_

He knew that wasn't enough. He could apologize all the wanted, fall to his knees before the king and beg for forgiveness, but it wouldn't change a thing. His husband would never understand.

'_What have I done?'_

**TBC…**


	15. Confronter

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

**_Love and War_**

by Mikage

**Chapter Fifteen - Confronter - To Confront  
**

Lady Cecilie von Spitzweg watched as her youngest son fled the king's study, her heart jumping to her throat at the look on his face. She called after him only seconds after Gunter's attempt, her voice hoarse and cracking on the second syllable, her cry going unheeded. For a moment she contemplated letting him be. This wasn't something he'd handle easily, she'd known that in the beginning, and he would require time to calm down before she could even hope to have some sort of a rational discussion with him.

But some maternal instinct prevented her from staying where she was, and though she knew for certain that Wolfram was far too emotional to speak civilly now, she couldn't just leave him to himself. He'd been hiding his grief for too many years, and it had done more damage than most people realized. Though it's what he would have preferred, she couldn't let him go through this on his own, not this time, and so she left her place by the wall to run after him, paying not a single ounce of attention to the three males she left in the room.

Let them continue planning their war. She had more important things to do.

"Wolfram!" she tried again, looking on as he plowed down the hallway, not paying attention to where he was going, nor the people who were around him. A few of the maids were milling around, looking truly surprised to see the prince and former queen dashing down the corridors like two uncivilized commoners instead of the upstanding noble citizens they truly were. The guards who were patrolling were instantly on alert, perhaps assuming that their reactions had resulted by the presence of some form of danger.

The blond boy hardly listened to her. If anything he only increased his efforts to get away, pushing passed anyone who happened to stand in his path.

"Leave me alone!" he commanded when it didn't appear as if she were going to give up, turning down another hall in the hopes of losing her.

Celi simply continued running after him, trying her hardest to think of something she could say to comfort him, when she knew that nothing could ease the heartache he was most surely going through at that moment.

Originally she hadn't known about Gwendal's intentions. She'd remained as oblivious as everyone else about his desire for Wolfram to sign a declaration of war, and her oldest child had continued to leave her out of the planning until everything that had happened two days ago. At that point, with her granddaughter frightened and her youngest son bruised, she hadn't had much of an argument against him, and had agreed to the war because of that event alone. What she didn't agree with was the way in which Gwendal had taken care of the issue. He shouldn't have been so cruel and uncaring towards his younger brother, should have spoken with him about his concerns and not forced the decision onto the boy.

But when the time came, there had been little she could do to stop him. Gwendal would always do what he thought was right. He claimed Wolfram would never sign the required document on his own and that force would be necessary to talk him into it, and although Cecilie had tried to convince him otherwise, her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. It hurt her to constantly see her sons slowly drifting away from one another, but she couldn't think of a way to ease the constantly widening gaps between them. So she'd simply stood by, watching as Wolfram was cut down by one of the people he trusted above all others.

"Wolf!" she repeated her call, nearly pleading with him, but again her shouting when unanswered.

The blonde haired woman was almost relieved when he blindly collided with one of the guards, the impact enough to surprise him and cease his running for the moment, the Prince falling to the floor at the unexpected jolt. She raced to the scene, and arrived just in time to grab him before he could push himself up and take off again, wrapping her arms around him tightly, more as a way to keep him in place than to comfort him. Something told her that this time it would take more than a warm embrace to soothe him. He didn't want consolation this time, not the way he had two nights ago; he wanted an escape.

After a moment of weak struggling, the boy finally relaxed enough in her hold for her to loosen her arms without worrying about him breaking free, his face immediately going to bury itself against her shoulder. He went limp, the weight of his entire body leaning into her, and though he was no longer the tiny little boy he'd been so many years ago, she was happy to discover that it wasn't any more difficult to support him. He was heavier, taller than he'd been in childhood, but she wouldn't let something as trivial as that prevent her from holding him to her as close as she possibly could.

"He's going to hate me!" he exclaimed, pale-faced and stricken, and it didn't take more than a millisecond for her to know who he was referring to. "I promised him I'd never… I promised him! He trusted me!"

Cecilie envisioned their young, kindhearted king in her mind, the boy who'd earned feelings of fondness from her akin to the ones she felt for each of her sons, and to that boy she entrusted the happiness and well-being of her youngest. "I'm sure His Majesty will understand," she said, trying to sound confident, but it came out sounding somewhat hollow. Perhaps the king would one day understand their reasoning, why everyone he trusted had gone behind his back to start a war he didn't want, but she doubted it would be any time soon.

Wolfram seemed to sense these sorts of thoughts in her, his strength immediately returning to him as he pushed her away. "No…" he said, shaking his head in denial, blond bangs falling into soulful eyes. "No, he won't! You know he won't!"

"I'm sorry, Wolfram," she decided on a different track, thinking that it would probably be best to leave His Majesty out of this, at least for the moment, at least until he'd managed to calm down. "I know this is hard for you, I-"

"You don't know anything!" he cut her off, the shaking of his head becoming more emphatic. "Yuuri's going to hate me and it's all your fault!"

It hurt her to hear that, not because of any amount of truth that may have been contained in his words, but because he was trying to push her away, using that statement as a way to get under her skin, trying to manipulate her into doing as he wished and leaving him to himself. She said nothing to counter it, figuring it was better that he blame someone else when he already blamed himself for so much. She'd gladly allow him to put the fault on her if it helped to ease any of the pressure he was currently under.

"His Majesty is not going to hate you," she told him calmly, confident in that at least. Regardless of how angry the king would be, she knew the dark haired boy didn't have the heart to truly hate anyone, least of all his friends - no matter what they did. "He'll understand."

"No, he won't!" the Prince continued his rant. "He told me not to, and I promised him I wouldn't! He doesn't want a war! He'll never understand! He's going to come back and when he finds out what I've done he'll be angry, and he'll never talk to me again and -"

She stopped his rambling before he could continue. "No," she immediately refuted the idea, though she knew he wouldn't agree with her, no matter how honest or truthful she was being. "You know he's not like that. After a while, I'm sure he'll realize that this is the only way."

"Stop lying! You know that's not true!" he told her, seeming not to care about the crowd that had begun to develop around them or what kind of a scene he was making. "He'll never trust me again!"

The older woman assumed that this little episode had been building for a while now, that he simply needed to get it all out of his system. It was a cycle of sorts; he let the tension build inside of him for days, weeks, sometimes months, and then he exploded. There wasn't much use in trying to stop it once it had already begun, and she could only calmly ride it out until it had reached its conclusion, and try to offer comfort and support wherever she could - though such things sometimes did nothing but make it worse, more explosive than it would have been had she left him to throw things and work it out on his own.

"We just need to sit down with him and try to explain our reasoning!" Celi continued to suggest, although she knew he would never agree.

"Explain?!" Wolfram spat, as if the mere thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Explain what?! How his _best friend_ turned his back on him after four years of being nothing but loyal?! How his _husband_ just signed a document to send his people into battle?! He's never going to forgive me for this!"

"Perhaps once we tell him about the humans who -"

"No!" he bellowed, almost as loudly as what Gwendal was capable of, his face turning red at the mere mention of the incident he forced himself not to remember, much less talk about. "We're not going to tell him! He doesn't need to know!"

He did, Celi knew he did, just as she knew that once he was made aware of it, the king would do everything in his power to see that those men were brought to justice. He wouldn't have them killed, but he would prevent them or anyone else from hurting his husband and daughter again. She tried to take a step towards her son, to tell him that he didn't have to be afraid to tell His Majesty about that night, but he backed away from her, and looked as if he were about to bolt again.

"Everything's going to be alright," she said, the same sort of sentiments she'd expressed after the attack. It had worked in comforting him them, but it didn't seem as if she could rely on it again.

"Nothing will ever be alright now!" he shouted back at her, not caring about how much of a child he sounded like at the moment, oblivious to anything but anger and pain. "We're going to war, Mother! _War_!" he nearly screamed, as if she had no comprehension of the word, when truthfully she knew what it meant all too well. "This isn't some asinine squabble at one of your stupid dinner parties! We're in a war where people will die, and we'll end up back where we were twenty-four years ago because you let Gwendal force me to make the same mistake you did!"

"I know I made a mistake," she agreed, for although she cared immensely for her older brother - looked up to him, even - she knew it had been wrong of her to rely on him so much during her reign as queen. "I've accepted that and moved on with my life. Nothing good will come from dwelling on the past." Not once did she back away or step down from the challenge her son was presenting her with, meeting his tirade with a patience only a mother could retain.

"We're not dwelling on it, we're _in_ it!" the Prince countered. "Only this time _I'm_ in your place! I let my older brother abuse his authority and make me sign that declaration, because I'm just as weak as you were!" he yelled hatefully, though it was hard to decipher whether those strong feelings were directed towards her or at himself. "And now there isn't anything I can do to fix things!"

She faltered for just a second, though not over anything he said regarding her. She'd grown accustomed to receiving insults over the course of her life, and although she'd never had either of her sons hissing such things at her, she was nearly immune to their bite. What hurt her was how he thought so little of himself. She would accept being called weak, just as she would accept people whispering behind her back and calling her a horrible mother, but never would she look at her sons and see them as anything but strong, capable men.

Out of all of her sons, Wolfram was the one most like her. Gwendal was exactly as his father had been, the strong, silent type, brooding on his own more often than he was in the company of others, focusing so much on his duty that it made him seem cold and dispassionate, when deep down he was truly a caring individual. Conrart was so much like his father it hurt just to look at him, to remember the man whom she'd given her whole heart to, the man she was still convinced was her true love - so many years of searching and finding no one who made her feel quite as he did had made her sure of that fact.

Wolfram had many of his father's qualities, his temper especially, but there was something she saw when she gazed into his eyes that reminded her of herself. At first she'd told herself that it was merely the fact that they looked so much alike - he was the only one of her children who could visually be picked out as belonging to her; Conrart and Gwendal had both received their fathers' looks - but it was something deeper than that, she realized, something inside. She saw it every time he looked at His Majesty - that passion, that desire to be with someone who completed him. They were both searching for the same thing, the sort of love that would last a lifetime, one they could hold close and never have to worry about it slipping away from them.

She prayed with every ounce of her being that he would have better luck in that quest than she had. Her first husband had been killed in a battle, her second had left and then died many years later, his human blood taking him away from her far too soon. Her third husband, though still alive, had not stayed with her for very long - though she hadn't expected him to. Neither of them had truly been in love with one another. There had been passion, friendship, and the sort of love one would feel for their brother or sister, but it had not been enough to make the relationship last. They had married for their son's sake, so that when he was born he would be considered legitimate, but there had been few other reasons for them to remain together.

"Wolf…" she tried one more time, somewhat startled when he viciously smacked her hand away.

"Don't touch me!" he demanded, eyebrows lowering as his emerald eyes continued to narrow. "I don't want to hear your apologies, or any of your lies! Just go away! Go on your 'search for free love' and ignore your responsibilities like you always do! That's all you care about anyway! That's all you've ever cared about!"

"That's not true," the former queen denied, though she couldn't blame him for feeling that way. She'd been gone more than she should have over the years that he'd been growing up, and that time away had become more frequent after she'd stepped down and their young boy-king had taken the throne.

"Isn't it?" Wolfram wondered, hands clenching by his sides tightly. "After Father left, the only thing you cared about was having someone else to fill your bed!" he accused.

He was right, to an extent. She wouldn't say it had been the most important thing to her at the time, but that didn't change the fact that Celi had had more than a few lovers once the bonds of marriage had been broken. She'd slept with them (and rarely had it been the same man twice), but they'd rarely meant anything to her. There had been a few that she'd dated, but none of them had ever become serious. They would have liked it to - a couple had expressed the desire to be with her, one had even considered proposing - but she'd been so tied down with her duties and the memories of Dunheely that she hadn't been able to return their feelings.

The only reason she would have contemplated marrying any of them would have been to give Wolfram a father, to allow him to have what neither of his brothers truly ever did. But those men had been more focused on her than on her children; many of them had ignored Wolfram all together, others hadn't wanted to be responsible for some other man's child. In the end she'd decided that she could do a better job raising him by herself than depending on someone who rarely showed him the slightest bit of compassion. Gwendal and Conrart had both turned out all right, after all; she was proud of the two of them. Wolfram, she was sure, wouldn't be any different.

Although, he _had_ been a different sort of child than his two brothers. Gwendal had always been serious, even in infancy and toddler-hood; he'd been born with a scowl on his face and a grumpy demeanor which she had found undeniably adorable and his father had taken great pride in. Conrart had been calm and easy-going, rarely crying, and out of all three of her children he had had the easiest time growing up, despite the fact that his father had both left and died before he'd reached adulthood. They'd both been relatively independent, for although Conrart had clung to her as a small boy, he'd quickly grown out of it and learned to rely on himself.

Wolfram had never stopped clinging, though the things he held on to had changed over the years - it had started with her and Conrart, had then moved to Gwendal's approval, and now rested on their raven haired king. He'd been born screaming, and had cried at every opportunity after that, scaring away a majority of the men who'd attempted to court her. When he wasn't shouting his little lungs out, he'd found other means to gain as much attention as he could, whining, complaining, and making a mess out of everything. He'd been a good child, but when he was ignored for too long, he had ways of making sure that everyone was aware of his presence.

"You'd always run off with one of your simpering suitors!" he continued to shout presently, jarring her out of her memories, making it clear that he was still fully capable of gaining any sort of attention he may want, and holding it until he no longer desired it. "You'd leave me behind like… like I didn't matter to you at all!"

Oh, how wrong he was! If only he knew how much she loved and cherished him!

"Have you ever stopped to think of me whenever you're with one of your lovers?" the blond boy asked her. "Have you ever wondered if I missed you at all, if I needed you? Did you ever feel guilty for leaving me behind like Father did?"

Yes, she'd felt guilty, but she hadn't known how to make up for it; even now she had no clue. That guilt had only increased as the years went on, and had become nearly unbearable those near four years ago. Many times she'd wondered why her life had played out the way it had, what sort of destiny the Great One had in store for her. Why had she had such horrible luck with each of her husbands? Why had he allowed her to marry Wolfgang when she'd never even divorced Dunheely? Why had she been given three sons, each by a different man? Gwendal and Conrart she had planned to have, but Wolfram had been an unexpected surprise.

Now she understood. She had been one of the Great One's many pawns, the vessel he'd used to make certain that three of the four keys were born. It had been convenient to him to have them in one place, to make keeping track of them much easier. Of course, she hadn't known this until the boxes had been gathered, when she'd realized the fate that would befall her oldest two. She'd looked to her youngest then, and had discovered the truth on her own. They were pawns to the Original King just as much as she had been. The only reason they had been born was so that the boxes could be opened.

She'd tried to rectify that since then, to make them feel as if they were worth more than the tools the Great One had turned them into. Over the last few years she'd come to travel less often; she spent more time in the palace, looking after her children as she should have when they'd been younger, seeing that her granddaughter be given the love and attention she'd often failed to show her sons. It didn't change anything, she knew, but she'd foolishly hoped that it would make things at least a little better, that their family could begin to heal and come together, to grow closer than they ever had before.

Now it seemed as if it were too late for that. The damage had already been done.

"During the war, I didn't have anything!" she heard Wolfram cry, his words like sharp talons that ripped at her heart. Deep down she'd known how he felt, but she'd never been given such definite proof. "Do you know how alone I felt?! Can you even imagine what it felt like to sit here every day, knowing my brothers were out there risking their lives and _you_ weren't doing anything to stop it?! Did you even notice, or were you too consumed by your blissful fantasy to spare even one second to think that maybe I needed someone to talk to?! Did you think that me staying here in the castle meant I wasn't affected by anything?!"

He had been affected, to a startling degree. Celi knew that if there was one thing in his life that had most shaped him into the person he was now, it had been the war. So many days she'd seen him staring out the window, watching each unit of troops depart, staring intently as they came back with infinitely less people than they had left with. When he hadn't been studying or doing the work Julia assigned him, he'd been out in the garden, tending to the blue blossoms that had been named after his half-human brother, trying his hardest to keep _something_ alive at a time when everything else seemed to be dying.

He'd been brushed aside and ignored, too young to fight - his training had barely even started back then, his education taking precedent over magic or swordplay - too young for his opinion to matter at all. His father had been stationed on the seas and Cecilie herself had hardly had more than a few moments away from her duties; Conrart had taken it upon himself to clear his people of any fault or blame, and Gwendal had hardly anytime to relegate to his younger brother. In the end, there had only been Julia, whom Lady Celi had implored to look after him, knowing that if there was anyone who could get the boy to talk about the things that were bothering him and ease his worries, it would be her.

But Julia had died much too soon, and then what had Wolfram been left with?

Nothing.

"After Julia died, I didn't have anybody!" the blond boy made sure to remind her of that, as if he could read her very thoughts, "because you were too blind to see passed the next handsome man, Conrart was too bitter to care about anything, and Gwendal was too focused on the kingdom - just like he always is! And then you all went on acting like nothing had happened, refusing to talk about it, and I didn't have anyone to depend on! For twenty years I didn't have anyone to rely on but myself!

"Now I've finally found someone who just might give a damn about how I feel, and I've gone and betrayed him!" he persisted, not bothering to hold anything back now that he'd begun. There really wasn't much of a reason to hide anything anymore, Celi supposed. "I've been coerced into a political marriage to a man who will never love me back, attacked in my own room and nearly raped by some disgusting, sadistic human asshole who would have killed my daughter if I did anything to fight back, all in the same month, and none of you give a shit about how I feel!"

"That's not true," Celi denied again, green eyes filled with tears, her slender hands fluttering up by her mouth. It was true that she wasn't the world's best mother. Looking back now, there were many things she could easily say she shouldn't have done, and just as many things she wished she could go back and change, things she would have done differently had she known at the time what the outcome would be. But never had she questioned her love for her children, and she'd worked hard to make it so they never questioned it either. "You know I love you."

"I _don't know_, I _hope _you love me!" he corrected her.

She was immediately floored, her mouth falling open in shock and disbelief. "How could you even think that I wouldn't?" she asked him, though that question really didn't require an answer. She'd tried so hard to make him feel cared for, but obviously her attempts had failed.

He didn't bother providing her with an answer, simply backed up again in an attempt to get away from her, to leave her standing there by herself and go off on his own. He was prevented from doing so when he collided with someone a second time, turning to look over his shoulder as Celi's gaze moved up, and they were both a bit surprised to see Conrart standing there, brown eyes widened in curiosity, a bewildered look on his face. Neither of them doubted that the brunet had heard a good deal of their argument, Wolfram's shouting and Cecilie's quiet pleas.

Wolfram tried to turn again and Celi was prepared to go after him, but Conrart's hands had risen to grip onto his upper arms, keeping the smaller male in place. "What's going on?" the brown haired soldier wondered, staring first at his overemotional younger brother, and then to his anxious mother.

"Gwendal confronted him about the situation with the humans," she replied, speaking in Wolfram's place, seeing as the boy was too shocked by Conrart's presence to do much more than stand there and gape at him. Seeing him there had probably caused him to realize everything he'd previously been saying, everything he'd confessed to feeling, all the doubts he'd admitted to. Now that he was aware of how out of control he'd been, he was probably mortified. "We're going to war."

Celi watched a flash of something cross her second son's face then, his gaze instantly moving back to the blond male. "Did you…?" he began, but couldn't finish, although it was obvious what he was trying to ask.

The younger, shorter boy shook his head slowly, and spoke in a voice much quieter than he'd been using only seconds before. "I didn't want to."

Conrart paled considerably as he realized what had most likely occurred to make Wolfram go through with the act of signing a declaration. "He made you…?" Again the question went unfinished, but his meaning was apparent.

"Did you know that he was planning this?" their mother asked him, thinking he was far too calm with hearing the news to not have had any suspicions.

"I'd thought His Majesty would return before he was given the opportunity," he said as a reply.

Wolfram's green eyes widened, and he looked up at his second brother brokenly. "You knew?" he breathlessly questioned him. "You knew what he was doing and you didn't bother to tell me?"

"You had enough to worry about all ready."

"But you could have stopped him!"

Conrart frowned down at him sadly, hazel eyes filled with anguish, silently pleading with the boy, begging him to understand. "I didn't want to upset you."

"So you let him use me instead?!" Wolfram was slowly returning to his near hysterical state, his attempts to pull away from his brother beginning anew. "I _knew_ there had to be another reason for him to want this marriage! _That's_ why the Aristocrats agreed, isn't it?! They knew he'd make me sign a declaration! They knew what he was planning! And _you_ went along with it!"

"No, Wolfram," the middle brother tried to calm him, though all his efforts were being made in vain. "I didn't approve of it. If I had known that was his reasoning from the beginning, I wouldn't have agreed to suggest that you marry His Majesty. I only realized it after the wedding had taken place!"

"Liar!" the blond spat. "You're the same as they are!"

"Wolfram," Celi crooned, going to pull her youngest son from his brother's grasp, relieved when he didn't fight against her, falling into her embrace without protest. She didn't say anything else after that, merely held him and let him lean into her. He didn't cry as he had two nights ago - part of her wondered if he even had any tears left - simply stood still, his body rigid, shoulders tense.

Conrart looked down at him sadly, looking very much like he wished to apologize, though they both knew that would do very little to make things better. The declaration had already been signed and no doubt Gwendal had begun issuing orders and preparing their army for deployment as soon as she and Wolfram had fled the room. Conrart had missed his opportunity to make things right, and was now left to pick up what pieces he could.

"I'll go speak with Gwendal," the brunet said after a long moment of silence, sparing his younger brother one last heartfelt glance before he was heading down the hallway towards the king's study.

Celi watched him go, her hold on Wolfram remaining firm. Only when he was gone did she allow a single tear to fall, the drop sliding down her face to drip into her son's blond curls. Dread consumed her, though she forced a small smile when Wolfram looked up at her in confusion, his gaze entreating, as if he were silently asking for forgiveness for all the harsh things he'd said. Inside she felt nothing but sadness, realizing that even now, even after things had seemed to be getting better, her family was still falling apart around her.

* * *

Conrart didn't waste any time making his way to His Majesty's office, stalking down the halls without even bothering to spare a smile towards anyone he happened to pass along the way. He knew his destination, he knew his intent, and he wasn't about to let anything stop him from giving his brother a piece of mind.

Perhaps it was the sense of failure he'd been feeling since the night of the human's very personal attack against his little brother that spurred him on, or perhaps it had been the look he'd seen in Wolfram's eyes before he'd left him with their mother, the glint of betrayal and the look on his face as he realized those he depended on most had pretty much abandoned him, allowing him to be used and his relationship with His Majesty sacrificed along the way. Whatever it was, it fueled his anger, his steps heavy as he walked the long corridor, not knowing what exactly he was going to say to his older brother, only that he had to confront him about this.

He should have said something sooner, though he knew this war couldn't have been avoided; he just hadn't wanted the responsibility to be placed before Wolfram in such a way, not without His Majesty's approval. Had they gone through the correct channels and had the declaration signed without it causing such hostility, without the outcome damaging any chance of his younger brother's happiness, he wouldn't have had a problem. Cimaron had come too far in for them to ignore it any longer, and the transgressions against the crown certainly warranted this sort of action.

Although, thinking on it presently, he didn't think going into battle would solve anything regarding that issue. He and Gwendal had been taking turns questioning the two humans who had conducted the crimes, and had learned very little about them, or the note that had accompanied them. The author was still a mystery, and they had yet to even discover the men's names. They had no idea who had sent them, who their master was, or even what the full extent of their mission had been - or at least what it would have been had they not been prevented from fulfilling it.

The brown haired man's frown deepened at these thoughts, just as he arrived at his destination. The door was closed, and although he would have on anything other occasion, he didn't bother knocking, simply twisted the knob and pushed it open. He shut it behind him, more violently that usual, and glanced about the room with narrowed hazel eyes, grateful when he saw no one else in the room besides his elder brother. He wouldn't have wanted any one else to bear witness to whatever argument was about to ensue, although he doubted he would have been able to control himself had that been the case, and would have been reduced to shouting anyway.

Gwendal sat behind the king's desk, already looking over maps and rifling through a few stray documents, unconcerned about the sudden interruption, almost as if he'd been expecting it. He looked up after a moment, giving the brown haired captain a level stare, face blank and posture showing that he was no longer as distressed as he had been quite often recently. Now that he had the means to take care of their problems in a lawful manner, Conrart suspected his worries would begin to ease significantly. He no longer had to stress over ways to get a declaration signed.

In opposition, Conrart's worries were increasing dramatically.

"What he hell were you thinking?!" he finally asked, not bothering to be polite or respectful, his voice rising the instant he began speaking. "How could you do that to him?!" he wondered, easily remembering the look on Wolfram's face - the same look the blond had had when he'd first discovered Conrart's human parentage.

"Someone had to do something," Lord von Voltaire said rather simply, once more beginning to go over the maps spread out before him, neither impressed nor troubled by the half-human's presence.

"But to force him to sigh a Declaration of War, when Yuuri has already made it explicitly clear that he does _not_ want a war?!" In his anger he'd neglected to speak of the king by his title, this matter much too personal for him to refer to the boy he thought of as a son and younger brother as 'His Majesty.' This had nothing at all to do with politics. This had to do with the desires and feelings of the two boys he felt infinitely responsible for.

"So we're just supposed to sit back and do nothing?" Gwendal wondered, eying him critically, as if he couldn't believe he'd suggest such a thing. "Let the humans take over and enslave us all? After what happened a few nights ago I thought you would agree to this. Weren't you just as eager to wring their necks?"

"You should have waited for Yuuri to come back," the younger man proclaimed, ignoring the other man's comment about his reaction. It was entirely truthful, but it didn't make him feel good about himself.

"And how long will that be? Another week or two? A month?" The Chief of State shook his head at that, jaw harshly set and teeth clenched together. "We don't have time to wait, Conrart? Six of our villages have been attacked, four of them destroyed beyond repair. I won't have us lose anymore. This stops _now_!"

"Regardless of your feelings on the situation, Yuuri is the _king_!" he pointed out, though he highly doubted Gwendal's tactics would have been any different even if Yuuri had been here. "You should have waited to discuss this issue with him! He has a right to know what you're planning, and it's _his_ approval you should have sought!"

"What, so we could have _two_ fools preaching to us about peace?" Gwendal scoffed, releasing a bitter chuckle. "_Please_! We never would have gained his approval and you know it."

"That doesn't mean you had any right to force this responsibility onto Wolfram!"

"He accepted this responsibility the day he married the king!" the older man exclaimed, continuing to disagree with the brunet on every point that he brought up. "He and that simple-minded twit have ignored this issue long enough! If they want to keep crying 'peace, peace!', then that's fine, but I will not stand by and allow the country to continue to be attacked and taken over! If I have to force Wolfram to take action, then I will! I will not allow him sacrifice his kingdom because of his feelings for His Majesty!"

"How can you expect him to do something like this?!" Conrart shouted in disbelief, internally wondering where all of his older sibling's compassion had gone. He found it hard to fathom that the man would intentionally hurt Wolfram without having some kind of regret. "He's still a child!"

At that, Gwendal stood up form behind the desk, though he made no move to step closer to the angered captain. "_That_ is entirely _your_ fault! He wouldn't still be a child if _you_ would stop pampering and indulging him at every turn! His whole life, you've given him everything he's wanted and done everything he's said without question!"

"I took care of him when no one else would!" Conrart corrected him, enraged. He'd only done what he thought was best for his little brother, no matter how Wolfram treated him in return. "He didn't have anyone! Mother was busy with the kingdom, his father hardly cared to come visit him, and you weren't any better! Your hardly gave him the time of day!"

"I have more important things to do than pamper him."

"He looked up to you!" the younger man asserted, and though their brother had begun to fallow Yuuri's orders instead of Gwendal's over the years, he knew that statement still held true. "He idolizes you!"

"Then obviously I haven't set a good enough example."

"All he ever wanted to do was please you."

"And now he has."

Conrart's light brown eyes narrowed more, his gaze demonstrating his displeasure. "By signing your declaration? Is that what he has to do to make you proud of him, after all the other things he's done over the years?"

"It was either he sign it or I send the troops out without one," Gwendal explained. "Either way, I have no intention of letting our enemies advance any further than they already have. Would you rather I allow them to make it to the capital? Surely you know what would happen then." He paused as if waiting for the other man to make some sort of a reply, but when there was none he opened his mouth to continue, describing the event as he saw it in his mind. "They'd kill our gentle king and drag his body through the streets. They'd take Greta and make her a slave to their kingdom, beat and abuse her for the rest of her life."

Somewhere inside, Conrart knew he was right. Belar had tried numerous times to destroy the demon tribe, and if he were given the opportunity to make it this far, the captain knew the results would be a catastrophe beyond imagination. The kingdom would be crippled, destroyed, and those who were left alive would be forced into slavery, serving the human kings for the rest of their long lives.

"And Wolfram - it's fairly obvious how little they think of him. They wouldn't even waste the time needed to kill him," Gwendal went on, deep voice just as detached as it had been from the beginning. "They'd take him as a whore and sell him to nobles and other royals to pay off their war debts. Certainly that's not the sort of life you'd want for you little brother."

"You know I'd die before I ever let them lay so much as a finger on him!" Conrart told him, hand instinctively going to grip the hilt of his sword at the mere thought of it. Even if it cost him ever single one of his limbs, even if it resulted in him losing his life, he'd protect Yuuri, Wolfram, and Greta with everything that he had.

"They've already done more than lay a finger on him, and he's got the bruises to prove it!" Lord von Voltaire stated, every word that fell from his lips ringing true. "He and Greta have already been threatened! If your niece had not found a way to escape, those men would have done far worse than bruise him! What would you have done then, Conrart?"

"I would have killed them," the brunet replied honestly.

"They _deserve_ death, but you know as well as I do that His Majesty will not have them executed."

"He is the king. It is his decision."

"Do you agree with it?" Gwendal asked, and it was obvious by his tone of voice that he did not.

"What I believe has no effect on the matter," the shorter man replied, shaking his head slightly. "I follow Yuuri's orders."

"I don't give a damn who's orders you follow!" Gwendal snapped in irritation, disliking how he kept jumping around the questions. "Do you agree with it?" he asked again, wanting a straight and truthful answer, not more of Conrart's bullshit.

The brown haired man fell silent, gaze never breaking away from that of his brother, the serious expression never leaving his face. "No," he finally replied, though he refused to elaborate further.

Gwendal stared at him, letting the silence drag on, each of them speaking silent words that only the other could understand, used to these periods of noiselessness. They did not need speech in order to understand one another. Their intense gazes and determined stances made their thoughts and feelings quite clear.

"This war was inevitable," the Chief of State eventually said, lowering himself into the king's chair once again, the spot he'd taken up for years, long before his mother had stepped down. "There's nothing else we can do."

Conrart nodded solemnly, and though he hadn't managed to change Gwendal's mind, he'd said what he had come to say, his frustration over the man's actions slowly easing out of him. He turned stiffly to leave, knowing he hadn't accomplished much of anything, but knowing that anymore arguing would be futile in this instance. Nothing more could be said, nothing more could be done. They could only continue along the path set before them, and hope they came out all right on the other end.

He stopped before he could exit the room, his hand on the door knob, his younger brother's face again flashing through his mind. "You do realize what you've done, don't you?" he asked the older man quietly, eyes focused on the thick wooden door, knowing all too well how Wolfram was feeling, and knowing what it would do to his relationship with their older brother. "Just as Yuuri will never forgive Wolfram for signing the declaration, Wolfram will never forgive you for making him."

"I am well aware of that," Gwendal replied easily, with not a hint of uncertainty or regret in his voice. "If I have to be the bad guy to get things done around here, then so be it."

Conrart sighed at his words, momentarily wondering at his seeming lack of guilt, but in the end he decided to let it go, at least for now, knowing Gwendal would refuse to elaborated any further. Instead the brown haired man left the room, leaving Gwendal to his work, to his planning, and mentally preparing himself for what was to come.

* * *

Elizabeth frowned when she found Wolfram out in the courtyard, his sword at hand and the anger that had so recently been left to fester inside of him now being directed towards one of the many youths who'd gathered around him - on his orders, she supposed. After spending nearly an hour searching for her childhood friend within the walls of the castle, it was a bit disappointing to find him in the one place she'd first thought of but had neglected to check in the hopes that he'd not allowed his mood to swing to such an extreme. It had been wishful thinking on her part, she knew, and there really wasn't much she could do to help or change the situation.

She stood by for a moment and watched with interest as the blond haired prince took a wild swing at one of the armed men, the youthful soldier easily parrying the attack, though his face had morphed into an expression of deep concern, eyes narrowed in worry. The other men stood by nervously - most of them previous members from Wolfram's personal guard who'd recently been promoted to the Royal Guard - each one awaiting their turn against the volatile prince. This was certainly not the first time they'd been subjected to such activities, but Elizabeth knew they'd never seen Wolfram quite as careless as he was now.

Few of his swings connected, and the ones that did manage to elicit the loud clang that resulted from metal hitting against metal were easily blocked and countered. His footwork was sloppier than she ever remembered seeing it, his graceful and precise steps hindered by whatever it was the drove him to ruthlessly attack his own men. He seemed to be focusing more on his anger than on improving his speed or skill, and though the guards seemed willing to allow him to use them as an outlet, it was obvious that they were concerned for him more than they were for their own safety - with the way Wolfram was senselessly going at it, she didn't think he could do much damage to them as long as they paid attention and didn't let their guard down.

Elizabeth had seen this specific routine many times before, so she wasn't surprised in the least to find the Prince out here uselessly hacking away at this particular group of men. She'd known Wolfram for most of her life, had met him long ago when her Uncle Raven had taken her to the castle on one of his and Lord von Spitzweg's visits. They'd played together quite peacefully for a while, then argued over toys; he'd wanted to play with toy swords, while she had preferred to dress up and pretend to be king and queen. They'd talked to one another about their families soon after, then argued over whose mother was prettier, and they'd been friends ever since.

She'd grown used to his temper long ago; in fact, her very own could quite easily rival his. When they hadn't been prancing around together in the gardens or sharing snacks that the maids baked for them in the afternoons, they'd been absorbed with screaming matches - who could shout the loudest; if they argued over the same toy, who would it inevitably be given to; whose tears could elicit the most desired response from the adults? Wolfram had won those games most of the time, though she'd always told herself it was because his mother had been the queen and no one had wished to anger her.

She and Wolfram were so much alike it was fairly easy for them to understand one another. Neither of them liked to be avoided, both of them had certain ideals on what was considered an appropriate amount of attention - and they'd both sought attention in their youth, from anyone who was willing to give it - both of them were passionate and determined. In their childhood, when he'd been angry he'd throw things around, or take one of his toy swords and whack at a harmless tree until he ran out of energy; when she'd been angry she'd do pretty much the same, only instead of using a fake sword, she'd ripped the heads off of her dolls and thrown them at those who angered her.

Seeing him as he was now easily reminded her of those days, only the memories failed to bring a smile to her face this time. There really wasn't anything to smile about.

Elizabeth knew what Wolfram was doing - or what he was trying to do, since it didn't seem as if he were succeeding with the reckless way he was going at it. He did this every time he felt as if he had failed in some way, as if beating the crap out of those who served below him could somehow increase his skills and make him feel better about himself. The attack against he and Greta, as well as the signing of the Declaration of War a few days ago, had obviously aroused his anger enough for him to skip the screaming and the throwing, and go immediately to obsessive training.

At first she thought to stay out of it and wait until he exhausted himself before stepping in to talk to him, but it was difficult to simply stand by and watch when she was really one of the only people in the world who even half-way understood what he was going through right now. So instead of waiting, she walked forward into the courtyard during a break in the action, the guard Wolfram had previously been assailing giving up his spot to yet another nervous youth. Both the prince and the guard lifted their swords, and before anyone could even announce the start of the match, Wolfram was bounding towards him in a sloppy illustration of his usual abilities.

"Brother Wolfram!" she shouted to him, drawing ever closer.

The blond boy refused to answer her, his green eyes remaining on his opponent, either oblivious to the call or choosing to ignore her.

Elizabeth's frown deepened; she didn't like being ignored. "Brother Wolfram!" she tried again, though instead of waiting for a reply, she took a sword from one of the other young men, then gracefully stepped into the fray, easily blocking one of the prince's attacks and using her body to shield the rather surprised guard.

"Go away," Wolfram demanded of her then, glaring at her heavily, his breathing labored from exertion, pale face flushed red from all the exercise he'd been forcing onto himself. He stepped back when their blades separated, though he spared her not another word.

"I've been looking for you," she stated, not easing her posture, knowing he could very easily jump into his attack again. "I should have known I'd find you here taking your anger out on these poor men. But I'd hoped you'd grown out of such childish behavior and searched the castle for you instead."

She knew that had been the wrong thing to say, but the danger that was suddenly directed her way hardly phased her. She'd said it on purpose, knowing that provoking the mazoku prince was almost effortless. Question his authority, his honor, his intent, treat him like the child he'd tried so hard to grow out of, and Wolfram was bound to snap.

"I told you to go away!" he shouted, lunging at her, swiping his blade at her without really paying attention to what he was doing.

Elizabeth blocked it again, and allowed him to continue his pitiful thrusts and strikes, guarding herself from each and every one with very little effort on her part. He grunted and growled with each miss, reminding her of herself many years ago, when she'd dueled His Majesty for the right to his hand, when she'd been blinded by her anger and had senselessly attacked her friend.

Eventually, when she could see that the boy was finally beginning to grow too tired to put as much strength behind his blows to cause any damage - if they should actually hit, that is - she fluently disarmed him, watching as his sword sailed through the air for a moment, then clattered to the ground some distance away. He turned sharply as if to retrieve it, but decided against it, giving up with hardly a word and collapsing onto the ground as well. The soldiers around them had fallen into silence upon Elizabeth's arrival, the group of them now looking on in surprise at the ease in which she'd managed to curtail his seemingly unstoppable tirade.

The dirty blonde haired woman handed her sword back to the young man she'd borrowed it from, then waved them off. "You can go now," she said casually. "I'll see to him."

They looked at her questioningly for a second, then turned to do as she'd said.

Elizabeth wasn't stupid enough to believe that they'd leave the area completely - they were responsible for the prince's safety, after all, and with the attack that had been conducted against him she didn't think he'd be without at least one or two guards for quite a while - but once they'd traveled far enough away so as not to hear them speaking, Elizabeth went back to her friend, crouching on the ground in front of him. Her dress brushed against the dirt ground, but she hardly cared, more concerned for the prince than she was about her lavish clothing.

"Did that help at all?" she wondered softly, watching him as he continued to get his breathing under control.

"Shut up," he panted out, still glaring at her. "The only reason I stopped is because you interfered," he eventually resumed his speech, his voice lacking the firmness it would have possessed had he been honest in his statements.

"That's a lie," she pointed out. They'd fought enough over the course of their lives to know that they were evenly matched when it came to power and skill. He'd never turned down a dual with her before, well aware that she could hold her own against him, nor had he ever let her win over the simple fact that she was a girl. Gender had never mattered much between the two of them, only friendship, and equality in aptitude and competence.

"What do you want?" he asked her then, his narrowed eyes easing and his breathing becoming more regular as he slowly calmed.

"To make sure you're okay, though it's obvious now that you're not," she easily replied, tilting her head to the side as she regarded him carefully, observing the boy as he adjusted his slender body so that he sat more comfortably on he ground. "You haven't been taking very good care of yourself since His Majesty left," she commented. "Have you even eaten anything today? I don't recall seeing you in the dining room during breakfast or lunch."

"I could have had the maids bring my meal to me," he snapped back.

"But did you?"

He stared at her levelly, and by the way certain emotions worked across his face, she could tell he was contemplating lying to her. In the end, he made the wiser choice and decided not to, sighing as he said, "No, I haven't eaten since last night."

"And you expect to put up a decent fight when you're so lacking in energy?" she asked, shaking her head. "Well, if you're neglecting food… when's the last time you slept?"

"I don't remember," he bit out, obviously annoyed by her perceptiveness. "Can't you leave me alone? I don't want to be bothered right now. In fact, haven't you been here long enough? Why haven't you gone home yet? There's no need for you to be here."

She wasn't hurt by his tone at all, knew for a fact that he didn't really want her to leave. If he had no intention of talking to her whatsoever he would have gotten up and left without saying a word. "It's too dangerous to do any sort of traveling right now," she merely pointed out, offering him a small smile. "So I'm afraid you're stuck with me for a while yet."

He frowned, but added nothing else.

Elizabeth stared at him over a moment of silence, watching as he shifted his emerald gaze away from her amethyst, before she was standing to her feet to retrieve his sword from where it had landed, carefully handing the blade back to him. He took it without a word, standing to his feet as well and sliding it back into its sheath. The blonde haired girl merely smoothed out her dress, letting the silence stretch for a few seconds longer, noting the way he nervously shifted under her intense gaze, inwardly smirking when she realized she was making him uncomfortable.

"None of this is your fault, you know," she finally told him, making sure to keep her voice as quiet and unthreatening as she could, not wanting to incite his anger again. "You didn't have any other choice but to sign that declaration, and nothing you or anyone else could have done would have prevented it. Whether your brother forced you or not, it would have happened eventually."

Her words inspired little reaction from him. He remained facing her, though his sight was trained on the ground beneath their feet, his hands balling into fists by his sides. His face was blank, and though a good portion of his golden bangs had fallen to conceal his green eyes from her, she could see his thoughts through what little remained in view - two windows to his soul. There was pain, anger, hatred - none of it directed at her, and not all of it directed at his brother or the two humans whose intrusion into his life had been the final event before the incriminating document had been drafted. There was sadness and betrayal as well, each emotion as powerful as the next, but then that wasn't much of a surprise; when Wolfram felt something, he felt it strongly.

"Then why does it hurt so much?" he asked in a near whisper, lifting his gaze to look at her then, as if begging her to make it stop hurting, when they both knew there was only one person who could ever hope to accomplish that. "Why do I feel like I've done the wrong thing?"

"Sometimes it's the right thing that's hardest to do," she told him, slowly shaking her head again. "Sometimes you have to do things you'd rather not. You can't expect to have the right answers all the time, but you can't beat yourself up every time you think you've made a mistake."

"It _was_ a mistake. I know that," he said. "I let Gwendal manipulate me. He knew I'd do it, if he said all those things…"

"He didn't mean them."

He looked at her critically, as if he didn't quite believe her. "And how do _you_ know _that_? You have no idea what he's thinking."

"But I know he's never been outright cruel to you," Elizabeth answered him patiently. "I'm sure he regrets having to force you just as much as you regret signing it."

He snorted, but didn't try to counter her argument, looking away again so that she couldn't see the small light of hope he had that what she was saying was true.

"And I know you, Brother Wolfram," she continued, moving closer to place a delicate hand upon one of his shoulders. "No matter what Gwendal or anyone else said, you wouldn't have signed anything if you really didn't want to. You know it's the only way."

"I do," he agreed quietly. "But…"

"I know you promised His Majesty you wouldn't," she said understandingly, "but you can't expect to be able to keep every promise you make. Even His Majesty hasn't been able to keep all of his. Give him time to adjust, to accept things, and he'll come to understand your reasoning."

Wolfram looked towards her again, eying her skeptically. "And since when have you been his greatest supporter?"

Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Since he married my best friend."

The blond prince frowned, but said nothing else on the matter.

The dirty blonde haired girl's smile faltered slightly, but the slip was hardly noticeable. She hadn't liked His Majesty very much at all when she'd first met him. He was naïve, far too trusting of people who shouldn't be shown even the slimmest form of trust, not to mention he'd stolen her Wolfram away with hardly any effort at all. After their duel, she'd realized that there was more to the black haired young man than met the eye, a power and confidence lurking inside of him that would enable him to lead their people to an era of prosperity, a deep, cleansing love for all the world's inhabitants that would ensure a future of happiness.

Most of all, he loved Wolfram, far more than she could ever hope to. His Majesty may not realize it, and Wolfram himself may not even be able to see it, but she and nearly everyone else knew it was there, somewhere inside of the young king, waiting to spew forth and make its presence known. She believed it would one day, though it may take time - years, perhaps, if His Majesty continued to give into his fears - but eventually all would be right in the world, and her dear friend would finally be given the chance to truly be happy. They were right for each other, she could see that now - though she'd doubted it once - and she'd do anything she could to make them realize it.

Wolfram was like a brother to her, and he deserved the very best.

"If you're done scaring the soldiers," she began again after a while, lowering her hand from his shoulder to slip it into one of his, "perhaps you'd like to come inside and have something to eat. Ken invited me to join him for afternoon tea and snacks. Would you like to come, too?"

"Ken?" he wondered curiously, looking as if he had no clue as to whom she was referring to.

"Yes. His Eminence," she answered his question, amused by the look of shock he adopted at the realization.

"Since when have you been interested in the Sage?" the prince asked her incredulously, as if he didn't quite believe she was being serious - although part of her hoped he was jealous that her attention and affections had seemingly strayed, and that he was feeling as protective of her as she had been of him when she'd first learned of his engagement to His Majesty.

"Since a few days ago," Elizabeth easily replied, her smile growing as she began to lead him into the palace. "He's a really charming man, very intriguing, and a bit like His Majesty, don't you think?"

Wolfram frowned at the comparison, obviously not in complete agreement. "Just as much of a wimp, and just as useless, but far more intelligent."

The young noblewoman laughed softly. "And then after tea we'll have to go talk with your mother. She's been worried about you, you know, and Greta's been wondering where you've run off to."

She went on listing all the things they could do to occupy themselves with for the remainder of the day, never once allowing him to return to his previous sullen mood. She'd been able to distract him when they'd been younger, and she could still distract him now, even if it meant provoking him and luring him into a petty argument about things of little importance. For now she knew that's all she could do, but it was enough.

To see him smile just once…

That's all she wanted.

* * *

"Yuu-chan, I wish you could stay longer," Yuuri listened to his mother lament as he stood before the small pool still set up within the back yard of his home on Earth, dark eyes staring into the clear water as if he could see through to the other side, when in reality the only thing that met his gaze was blue plastic smattered with smiling suns.

After spending a week at home lost in thought and endless confusion, he thought it was nearly time for him to make his return to the Great Demon Kingdom. Time passed the same in both worlds now, but he knew for a fact that a lot could happen in seven days, especially with how his kingdom was currently fairing, and after the dream he'd had a couple of nights ago, he was becoming worried about the state of affairs, worried about his friends and family. He'd put his personal issues above his responsibilities long enough, he'd decided, and it was time for him to take on his role as king with the determination and zeal he'd had years ago, when things had seemed so much easier - and infinitely less daunting.

If he were to be completely honest, he would admit to feeling somewhat uneasy. After the dream where he'd seen images of the future in those four mirrors - images he was still struggling to understand - and been confronted with his alternate persona, he'd been anxious to see Wolfram again, a sick feeling in his gut telling him that something was wrong. It was hard to describe, but something inside of him _knew_ that something had happened while he'd been a way, and he knew it wasn't anything good, not something he'd like or feel ecstatic about.

Just this morning he'd been hit with an overwhelming need to see the other boy, to make sure that he was alright, that he was still there where he'd left him. When that need hadn't left over the course of the day, or dissipated in the least, he'd made the decision to go ahead and head back. He may not have sorted much of anything out, or come to any major conclusions about himself, but he knew nothing much was going to happen if he stayed here. It was time he went back and took care of the mess he'd left behind, both where his blond friend was concerned and with the kingdom.

"I've already stayed too long," he replied to his mother's voice, turning slightly to face her. His father and Shori were standing nearby as well, each waiting to watch his departure. "You know I've got a lot of things to take care of, Mom. I can't stay here any longer than necessary."

"I know," she agreed, her frown then instantly morphing into a grin as she chirped, "Make sure you bring Wol-chan and Greta-chan when you come back!"

A smile worked its way across his face at her words, and he nodded in agreement, allowing her to pull him into a tight good-bye hug. His father was next, bestowing upon him a similar form of affection, though his arms were not wound around him as tight, and one of his hands patted his shoulder in silent support. "If you ever need anything, just hop back over here," Shoma told him when he pulled away.

"Thanks, Dad."

He looked towards Shori then, the older man making no move to hug him or even shake his hand, standing back with his arms crossed, dark eyes staring at Yuuri as if he could see inside of him, trying to discover with his gaze alone the truth of his younger brother's intentions. Yuuri merely smiled at him, taking a step towards the pool.

"See ya, Shori," he gave a small, quick wave.

The older man grunted, then said, "Remember what we talked about."

Yuuri paused, one foot submerged in the clear, cool liquid, easily recalling the conversation they'd shared at the restaurant the other day, and all the thoughts and convictions it had inevitably aroused within him. It made him nervous to remember what he'd promised himself, his new-found desire and determination to give this thing with Wolfram a chance, but there was also a great sense of relief. Nothing had been worked out completely, at least not yet, but he was now moving in the right direction, following what he thought was the correct path in order to achieve the answers he'd desperately been searching for.

He nodded in reply, though he said nothing else, taking one more step so that he was standing with both feet in the pool of water. He turned to spare his Earthen family one last wave, before closing his eyes and tapping into the power inside of him, feeling it spread through him the way his blood pumped its way through his veins. There was warmth and a great sense of strength - like he could accomplish anything, like nothing in the world could possibly stand in his way - before he heard the water begin to shift, rippling around him and lapping at the sides of his jean-clad legs.

He felt the cool substance wash over him, pulling him downward and spiraling around as he sank deeper and deeper into its depths. A long time ago he wouldn't have felt as comfortable with the transition between worlds as he did now; he'd never been given any warning when the Original King had been in control, and had only a moment to realize what was happening until he was again sucked into the portal. Now that he controlled his comings and goings, he'd grown used to the various sensations. Water coursed through and around him, saturating his clothes, its harsh suction making it nearly impossible to swim, but he no longer panicked or tried to fight it, and allowed the current to take him to the place where he was needed.

Seconds passed within its depths, and just when his lungs began to burn from holding his breath for so long, the whirlpool stopped, the water calmed, and he kicked his legs to bring his body back to the surface. He gasped for air for only a few moments, easily regulating his breathing once again as he wiped a few stray drops of noticeably warmer water out of his eyes. That was all it took for him to adjust to the change in time and place, and he immediately made moves to exit the large liquid body.

He'd arrived in the place he'd been using to teleport back to Earth - his private bath - finding it far simpler to surface here than in a fountain or through a puddle on the side of one of the kingdom's dirt roads, not to mention it was closer to his room and dry clothing. He hopped out of the bath with relative ease, stepping through the mist and steam until he'd made it to the doorway, pausing only momentarily before turning the knob, knowing that once he did there would be no turning back. He'd have to face everything that he'd run away from, and this time there would be no escaping.

Opening the door, he stepped into the hall as casually as he could, forcing his nervousness away. He half expected to find Gunter and Conrad there waiting for him, the former sobbing and ready to crush him against his slender body in a bruising hug, and the later standing patiently by with his ever-present kind smile. Instead he was met with a silent hallway, the tapping and squeaking of his sneakers echoing too loudly for his liking. It was far too eerie. Where was the maids' quiet gossiping? Where was the laughter of the soldiers and the giggling of the hordes of noblewomen?

Curiously he looked up and down the corridor, his dark eyes widening at the number of guards he immediately saw lined down each side of the hall. There were two stationed at each door, one on each side, swords and spears held within their grasp, posture straight and faces stern. Each one of them glanced his way when the door opened, though not a single one shouted out a happy greeting. A few nodded at the uneasy smile he gave them, and a few others politely bowed or saluted, but none shouted their usual warm and excited "hello"s.

Cautiously the dark haired king wandered down the hallway, eyes scanning the building as if searching for the reason this many guards were on duty at once. He didn't remember allowing this level of security. He'd always made it a point to keep he and his friends safe, but at the same time he'd liked to have at least a small bit of privacy - which was hard to come by when so many people were constantly watching over him, hovering behind and next to him as if he'd fall dead on the spot if they left his side for even a moment. Even though he knew it was dangerous and more of a risk than his retainers truthfully felt like taking, rarely had he allowed guards to stand by his bedroom door - he'd felt safe enough with Wolfram there, after all.

Therefore, his level of surprise only increased when he found two of Gwendal's men, soldiers he'd grown accustomed to seeing around the dark haired Chief of State, standing right where he didn't want them, each showing no signs of leaving any time soon. He cocked an eyebrow at their positions, stopping in front of his door to glance at each of them, stray drops of water dripping from his soaked clothing onto the floor. He frowned when neither of the men said a word to him to explain what they were doing there, crossing his arms in disapproval.

"I don't remember signing anything regarding an increase in security before I left," he told them, appearing as stern as he could, though he knew he hardly looked frightening when he appeared similar to a drowned rat at the moment, clumps of damp hair hanging into his eyes and sticking to the sides of his neck.

"Lord von Voltaire's orders, Your Majesty," one of the men in green replied.

"And what exactly was he thinking when he put this number of guards on one hallway? It's a little much, if you ask me."

"He was concerned about the safety of the royal family, Your Majesty," the second man in the pair answered him this time.

Glancing down the hall again, his curiosity further piqued, Yuuri noted the presence of another pair of highly trained soldiers standing to the sides of Greta's closed doorway, two of Conrad's men this time. Dakaskos was further down, stationed by Lady Celi's room with a young man who'd been promoted from Wolfram's troop of specially trained young boys, two more members of the Royal Guard by Gwendal's door as well.

"And why is that?" he wondered skeptically when he turned back to gaze at the two men before him. He tried to keep his face emotionless, a trait he'd tried to pick of from Gwendal but had a hard time putting into use correctly, though inside the feeling of unease he'd been assailed with early that morning began to grow. He was sure Gwendal wouldn't have done something like this unless there had been some sort of an apparent threat, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what that could possibly be when security had already been so heavy before his departure.

The men broke their gazes with him to spare a nervous look at one another, the man on the left nearly stuttering as he said, "Perhaps it would be best if you were to ask Lord von Voltaire and Prince von Bielefeld."

Yuuri rolled his eyes at their evasiveness, but asked them nothing else. After pushing open his door and entering his room, he closed it behind him, almost expecting the guards to follow him in with how stiff and overprotective they were currently being. He let his gaze sweep across his bedroom before moving to retrieve any clothing, trying to pick out anything out of the ordinary, wondering what in the world was going on to have everyone acting as they were. Why the hell had his friends suddenly become so very cautious?

Nothing much had changed in the room since the last time he'd been in here, except the dressings on the bed had been replaced, and - peering closer - if he hadn't known any better he would have said it was a different bed altogether. It looked similar to the one he remembered sleeping in last - or trying to sleep in - with its high canopy and curtains swept to the sides, but there were small differences in the craftsmanship. The wood was slightly darker, the feet holding the furniture a few inches higher off the ground. The curtains were no longer dyed green, and were now a deep blue, tied to each wooden pole with a golden cord and tassel. The bedspread and pillows were blue as well, though not as dark, the silk sheets beneath a pale icy shade.

It confused him to see such a change, and if he hadn't been here for four years now and grown used to how things were done around the castle, he would have thought it had something to do with the changing seasons. Instead he wondered if Wolfram had had something to do with it, perhaps ordered it to be set up more to his liking. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time the blond had complained about the appearance of something as pointless as the bed, but he found it somewhat odd that he would have waited four years to say something.

Shaking the confusion from his head, Yuuri figured he wasn't going to get any sort of an answer unless he went and spoke to his friends - wherever they were - and walked across the room without sparing the bed another thought. After taking a few moments to dry himself off, he opened the doors to the large wardrobe and began rummaging through his clothing, not really in the mood to slip on one of his uniforms, but finding very little else that differentiated from the black garments. In the end he pulled on a pair of his richly dyed pants, yanking one of the white shirts on after it and buttoning it up, but leaving the jacket hanging where it was.

Finished, he placed his wet clothes in a laundry basket in the corner once he'd shut the wardrobe doors, leaving the soaked materials for the maids to take care of the next time they entered his room. His need for dryness and warmth now taken care of, Yuuri returned to the heavily guarded corridor, shutting his bedroom door once again and sparing the pair of Gwendal's men another skeptical glance before heading off to seek out the man in question. He left the hallway containing the rooms of the members of the royal family, turning left at the T-shaped intersection and making his way towards his office.

If there was one place he knew he'd always be able to find his Chief of State, it was in his study. The man was more predictable than he probably realized when it came to his whereabouts, and over the years Yuuri had learned exactly where to look for him should he ever need anything from the darker man. No doubt Gwendal was riffling through all the papers that constantly stacked themselves upon his desk, sorting them out into more manageable piles of which to have signed and which to ignore. Either that or he was dutifully writing up reports, his quill scratching across the paper in quick strokes and swirls.

It took hardly any time at all for the king to arrive at his destination, having memorized the layout of the palace in the years that he'd lived beneath its roof so that he knew all of its secret passages and hidden walkways, lesser traveled halls that he made sure to make use of when he'd rather not be bothered by others. It seemed as if only a little less than a moment had passed until he was standing in front of the ornately carved slab of wood leading into the room he spent most of his days in, secluded between its walls with nothing but his advisers and mounds of paperwork to keep him company. When he looked, he noticed a good number of guards stationed along this hall as well, their presence only serving to heighten his confusion and curiosity.

Yuuri twisted the knob and pushed open the door without bothering to knock - a show of bad manners, he knew, but then he'd grown used to the slack he was so often given just for being the king, and he'd come to take advantage of it often enough. He entered without a word in greeting, merely stepped into the room and shut yet another door behind him, dark eyes glancing around to take in each surprised face. Obviously they hadn't been expecting his return - though without the Great One providing him with his means of transportation, there was not much time for Ulrike to give her past warnings.

Gwendal was, indeed, seated behind the desk, only instead of signing and organizing papers he was looking over a couple of maps, a few weights keeping the large sheets of paper on the wooden surface and preventing the corners from curling inward. Yozak and Conrad stood by his side, as if they'd both been scanning over the charts in the midst of a deep discussion. Stoffel, Gunter, and Mikhail were at the Chief of State's other side, their expressions just as serious - though Gunter looked marginally relieved to see that the king was back. Murata was leaning against the wall to Yuuri's left, arms crossed over his chest in a lazy manner, but dark eyes just as deep and sharp as always.

"Your Majesty," Mikhail greeted him respectfully, breaking the dead silence his surprising entrance had brought upon the group of men.

"What's going on in here?" Yuuri wondered, his unease only increasing when his gaze did not find Wolfram among the room's occupants. "What's with all the guards out in the hallways? I don't think having so many of them in here is really practical," he added, dark eyes locking with Gwendal's blue ones. "The ones by my room said you ordered it. Why?"

"Your Majesty…" Gunter tried to intervene, perhaps hoping that he could ease whatever tension this confrontation was bound to cause, but his soothing calls went unheeded.

"Perhaps if you'd stay here and attend to your duties you wouldn't be so clueless all of the time," Gwendal replied easily, his gaze never weakening, his face set in a stern mask, eyes devoid of any warmth or compassion.

"Excuse me?" Yuuri quirked an eyebrow. Apparently his leaving had only worsened things between himself and the older man, though he hadn't expected any better. Conrad looked ready to reprimand his older brother for speaking to the king in such a way, but Yuuri cut him off before he could, asking, "Did something happen while I was away?"

"Uuh, Your Majesty," Stoffel began nervously, as if he were worried about what the dark haired young man's reaction would be. "In your absence, things further escalated in the already tense situation with the humans."

"What do you mean?" the Japanese man inquired, dread now curling in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling he already knew how his questions were going to be answered, but he didn't want to believe it. There was no way things could have gotten that bad in just a week, right? "What happened?"

Gwendal wasted little time in informing him, and said rather emotionlessly, "We are now at war."

At those five words, Yuuri felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, only to be burned and have its ashes scattered across the kingdom. His stomach fell towards his feet, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick, his hands shaking by his sides as he forced down the bile that slowly began to rise in his throat. His eyes widened as he tried to come to terms with what had just been said, but even after repeating the statement in his head a few times, it continued to make little sense.

War? It wasn't possible. He hadn't permitted that.

"What?" he asked quietly, hoping with all of his heart that Gwendal really hadn't gone against him and sent the troops out without a declaration. He didn't know what he'd do with the knowledge that one of his closest friends and advisers had betrayed him and knowingly refused his orders.

"We are at war," the taller man said once again, his voice just as cold as it had been the first time. "We have already begun to deploy the troops. We plan on reclaiming our land and driving the humans out of our kingdom."

Anger was quick to take over the shock and feelings of rejection, eyebrows pulling themselves downward as his gaze slowly narrowed, his trembling hands balling into tight fists. "I told you I didn't want a war!" he shouted, face flushing with rage. "Call the troops back!" he immediately ordered. "I never signed anything allowing this!"

"You didn't have to."

"Of course I did! You can't just -"

"Wolfram has already taken care of that."

Yuuri stopped, staring at his Chief of State for a long moment, as if the words that had just been spoken hadn't yet registered in his brain. Truthfully it only took him a few seconds to understand what the man had meant by that, he just didn't want to believe that it was true.

'_No…'_ he thought, forgetting all the long, agonizing hours he'd spent on Earth trying to sort out whatever feelings he had for the other boy, the memories of his conversation with Shori and the decisions he'd come to make leaving his mind to be replaced by a searing anger, his teeth clenching harshly and his heart thumping in his chest. _'No…'_

Wolfram wouldn't do something like that, not after he'd made that promise. He couldn't.

"See for yourself," Gwendal casually told him, removing a sheet of paper from one of the pockets of his long green jacket, holding it out to the king with hardly any concern for how the younger man was feeling at the moment.

Yuuri took a few slow steps foreword, reaching out to grab hold of what was being offered to him, and although Conrad made a weak attempt at stopping him, the dark haired boy retrieved the piece of parchment from his Chief of State, unfolding the thick paper so that his eyes could scan over its words. He recognized the handwriting the document had been drafted in as Gwendal's, and when he glanced down at the place where his signature would normally be required, he found Wolfram's taking its place.

He felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him when his dark eyes glanced over the swirling, carefully scrawled letters, like someone had punched him in his gut or reached into his chest to rip his heart out. Gwendal had written the declaration and Wolfram had signed it. Both of them had effectively turned their backs on him, and peering at Gwendal now the young man didn't think it had been too difficult a task.

Rage consumed him, an anger he'd rarely ever felt on his own - as such emotions were usually forced down into his subconscious, left for his alternate personality to deal with. His hands shook in an effort to control himself, to not start shouting in Gwendal's face and demand to know why they'd done this, why they'd thought it so necessary to go behind his back and start a senseless war. There were other ways, certainly. There was no need for this, no reason why they couldn't find a solution more peaceful than the warfare they'd begun in his absence. There was no way Wolfram would have…

But he did, and that both hurt him and increased the level of his ire, that the one person he'd placed every ounce of his trust in had done something like this, despite his many oaths and promises, despite all the reassurances he'd given when everyone else had come to distrust him. He could blame the older dark haired man as much as he wanted, yell at him and demand that the troops be called back, but that would never change the fact that Wolfram had betrayed him; nothing would. With the simple act of the signing of his name, Wolfram had done the worst thing possible.

Crumpling the paper up in his hand, Yuuri tossed it back at the taller man, not caring how childish the action was or how he currently appeared in front of the other men gathered in the room. He turned on his heel, stalking back towards the door and ripping it open, paying no amount of attention to Conrad or Murata, who both called after him and requested that he wait. Yuuri refused to listen to either of them, thinking there wasn't anything they could say to fix this, his fury almost overwhelming. Had he felt this strong in the past, he would most certainly have changed into the Great Demon King. Presently he felt none of the lightheadedness that preceded the familiar metamorphosis, just the strong desire to shout and break something.

He stomped down the hallway, ignoring anyone who happened to follow him - and they did follow him, for he could hear them in the background, entreating him to sit down and allow them to explain, as if the answer to all of this could possibly be so simple, as if it even mattered. It didn't matter; he didn't care what their intentions had been or what Wolfram had been thinking when he'd signed the declaration. In his mind there was no justification; in his mind there was nothing but hurt, feelings of abandonment, all feeding into his all-consuming anger, building up so much he felt akin to a volcano waiting to explode.

He searched for Wolfram, not knowing quite what he intended to do when he found him, just knowing that he had to see him, to ask him why, although he doubted his answer would do either of them much good. He looked in their room again, in Greta's room, searching the library and the dining room, and with each empty chamber the animosity only escalated until his hands were clenched so tightly he was close to drawing blood, his face red as he fumed, teeth gnashed together so hard it hurt and his breathing becoming slightly irregular.

Finally he turned the corner onto a hall he rarely walked, his ears picking out the tinkling of piano keys, and he followed the noise to a room halfway down the corridor, its door open to allow him to see inside. There he found his friend, sitting on the bench before the instrument in question with Greta by his side, Lady Celi and Lady Elizabeth standing close by as well, neither of them noticing his presence. He stopped for only a moment to look in on them, before he was stepping over the threshold and preparing himself for the confrontation that was surely to take place.

There was no way he was going to let this go, no way he'd just sit back and let this continue. Damn Wolfram for doing this to him, for making him feel this way, after he'd spent so much time trying his hardest to sort everything out for the blond, for the both of them.

It wasn't his entrance that attracted their attention, but the sound of Conrad calling his name from out in the hallway. Each of the room's occupants glanced up in near unison, smiles breaking out along four faces before the dark look on his own visage registered. Wolfram's face fell and blanched, his hands falling from the ivory keys to hang limply by his sides. Lady Celi and Elizabeth averted their gazes, as if they were somehow at fault, too, and Greta seemed conflicted, as if she didn't know if she should be happy that he had come home or worried about his current mood.

"Yuuri," his daughter tried, and though it pained him to see her looking so hopeful, he couldn't force a smile in her direction, or go to her and offer her a hug.

"Everyone out!" he immediately demanded, eyes locking on Wolfram's guilty gaze, and he momentarily felt some sick, twisted sense of satisfaction that the blond seemed just as hurt as he was. "I need to talk to Wolfram," he elaborated when none of the three women moved to make their exit. "_Alone._"

"Shibuya…" he heard Murata say from behind him, but he spared the other young man nothing more than a heartless glare.

Slowly Greta, Elizabeth, and the former queen approached the doorway, Greta looking tempted to say something else, to try and sooth her dark haired father, but she kept her mouth closed and did what was requested of her with no complaints. Lady Celi's gaze was focused on the ground, as if she were also the carrier of some form of blame. Elizabeth merely glared, her violet eyes narrowed at the king in warning, still so protective of her friend even after she'd given her permission for the two of them to wed.

Yuuri's attention never strayed, and he remained glowering at the younger looking boy until the three women and the two men in the hallway left the two of them to themselves. He shut the door then, slamming it back into its frame just seconds after Elizabeth made her exit, giving no one else the chance to say anything. He paid no attention to his surroundings, hardly glanced around the room he'd entered, so focused was he on his best friend, who'd yet to move from his place in front of the piano. He saw nothing but blond hair and sorrowful green eyes, heard nothing but the pounding if his heart, and felt nothing but suffocating anger.

"I trusted you," he seethed quietly, surprised with himself when he managed to keep from shouting. He watched as the fair prince flinched at his words.

Quickly Wolfram looked away, his shoulders already hunching in defeat, full lips pulled down into a deep frown. "I'm sorry," he said just as softly, sounding truly remorseful.

"I don't want an apology!" the king snapped at him, his fisted hands tightening even more. "You being sorry isn't going to solve a God damned thing!" Neither would his shouting, but it felt so good to release everything, the building anger, the asphyxiating frustration. "I want an explanation!"

"What's to explain?" his pale counterpart wondered, his royal black clothing making him appear even more fair, and the way he was hunched in on himself making him look so small. "It's obvious you already know."

The blond haired boy stood then, moving slowly, his booted feet bringing him closer to Yuuri, and the double black watched as he passed him by, heading towards the door. Yuuri stopped him from leaving before he could move too far, grabbing onto one of his arms and pulling him back around, forcing him to turn and stare into his eyes, hoping the other young man could see everything that he was feeling at the moment. Let Wolfram hurt as much as he was hurting. He could hardly find it in him to care anymore.

It was cruel, he knew, to feel that way, inconsiderate and so out of character, and yet he couldn't help it. How else was he supposed to feel? How else was he supposed to react to what his friend had done to him, succeeding in crushing him fully and with hardly any effort at all. It was only fair that he return the favor, right?

Right?

Somewhere inside he knew there wasn't an affirmative answer, but he ignored it as easily as he'd been ignoring everything and everyone else.

Wolfram tried to pull away from him, but Yuuri easily yanked him back. "You promised me!" the black haired half-human shouted into his face, paying no heed to the way the blond flinched away. "You promised me you'd never sign a Declaration of War! You _know_ this isn't what I want!"

"Let go of me," Wolfram whispered, ceasing his struggles, but staring defiantly up at the king.

"Not until you tell me why!" Yuuri told him. "I trusted you, Wolfram! You were the only one I could ever trust completely, and now you do something like this?!"

"Let go."

The blond tried to push at the taller man then, lifting a hand to press against one of his shoulders and drive him backwards. Yuuri, in turn, tightened his grip and shoved him into the door, the motion causing a loud 'bang' to resound through the room.

"Why did you do it?!" the king wondered aloud, his voice still coming out harsher than he was normally capable of. "Do you hate the humans so much that you'd break your promise to me and sign a Declaration behind my back?! You swore to me, Wolfram!"

"I didn't have a choice," Wolfram replied, raising his voice this time so that he was shouting as well, though his eyes remained as plaintive as they'd been since Yuuri had entered. "There isn't anything else I could have done!"

"That's what everyone always thinks, isn't it?! Are you all so barbaric that you've forgotten how to _talk_ to one another?! Violence solves _nothing_!" Inside there was a part of the demon king telling him to calm down, to stop yelling and sit with the obviously distraught blond and allow him to explain, to think of all this rationally instead of letting his anger get the better of him. But he pushed that voice aside just as easily as he'd always done with everything about himself that he didn't want to accept.

Old habits die hard.

"Stop acting so high and mighty!" Wolfram spat, green eyes finally narrowing, though it seemed as if he had to force himself to continue facing the darker man. "You think your world is so much more advanced than ours?! You don't think some of the people on Earth are just as barbaric?!" he asked him, glaring heavily. "There are wars there, too, aren't there?! People fight against one another on Earth, too, don't they?!"

"We don't fight over stupid things like you do!"

"That's bullshit and you know it!" the prince challenged him. "I've read some of the books from your world! Conrart translated them. I know of some of the Earthen wars: people enslaved in camps, whole cities destroyed by powerful explosions, battles over religion and against persecution, battles over land for natural resources! You think they're so different from wars here, but they're not! Innocent people are killed in your world, too, over greed and stupidity! It doesn't seem as if anyone's learned how to talk there either!"

Yuuri fell silent at his best friend's words, allowing himself a moment to think on them, internally realizing that what he said was true, but refusing to back down just because of that. The people on his world had learned from their mistakes, or at least that's what he liked to think; it didn't seem as if anyone here had learned a damn thing. This whole time they'd thought of nothing but war, even when allowing him to do as he pleased and speak with the enemy. It had always been that way. He would want to talk, and his friends would protest, then there would be some sort of consequence for their hasty actions.

He'd thought over the years that Wolfram had changed, that at least the blond would agree with him when it came to situations like this. Wolfram had been one of the few to follow him without the doubt possessed by Gwendal and the others, and though his friend had voiced his complaints on more than one occasion he'd eventually come to agree with him, and had stood by him no matter what. Only now was Yuuri beginning to realize how wrong he'd been. Wolfram was still he same. Wolfram's views on the humans would never change completely, no matter how many nations they befriended.

"You think I actually want this war?" the blond boy asked him in opposition o his thoughts, eyes staring up into black accusingly, making his internal pain fairly obvious. "You think I enjoy sending soldiers off to die, that it wasn't hard for me to sign that declaration?!" He shook his head slowly, making no other moves to get away. "That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my entire life, because I had made a promise to you, and I knew I was breaking your trust in me! I felt like I was dying as I signed my name!"

Instead of backing up even more, putting some distance between himself and the enraged king, Wolfram pressed closer, lifting his hands to grip tightly to the white material of his shirt, almost as if he were pleading with him, trying to make him understand. Yuuri merely looked down at him emotionlessly, experiencing nothing more at the moment than simmering anger, all other feelings shoved into the dark recesses of his mind. There was no compassion or pity, no understanding, just a deep rage that he was finding increasingly difficult to contain.

"We've tried _everything_ and _still_ they don't want peace!" Wolfram continued. "They've attacked our people, destroyed our villages, threatened us and killed hundreds without showing any mercy! We can't just sit around and allow this to continue!" he said, fully believing his own words, though the manner in which he said them made it sound as if he were still trying to convince himself, to justify his actions. "When we got married I made a vow to help you protect this kingdom, to do everything in my power to keep our people safe! Right now, going to war is the _only_ way to ensure that our country has a future!"

Yuuri didn't have much to say in reply to that. Everything that came to mind was nothing more than a repetition of things he'd already said before. "You should have waited for me to come back!" he shouted instead. "You should have talked with me about this before doing _anything_!"

Silence washed over the other boy, as if he couldn't think of an appropriate response.

"How am I ever supposed to trust you again?"

That hurt; Yuuri knew it did. He could see it within the prince's green eyes the moment he said it, the way they widened, the way his lips parted in anguish and disbelief, how his hands instinctively loosened their hold on his shirt. He blond haired young man deflated instantly, his face paling considerably as he pulled away from the demon king again, looking for all the world as if he had to use every ounce of his strength to prevent himself from crying.

It hurt Yuuri, too, to see that, to remember the promise he'd made to himself and realize that he was successfully breaking it. But he couldn't help it. In such a short span of time he felt as if he'd lost one of his best friends, as if the boy he'd thought he'd known was nothing but a fake, using his friendship and trust to accomplish whatever goals he and the rest of the demon tribe had set for themselves and their kingdom. He felt similarly to the way he had when he'd first been brought here four years ago, lost in confusion and not knowing who to trust, who to believe.

Nothing was going the way he'd wanted it to, the way he'd planned. He hadn't wanted to return to the Great Demon Kingdom and be confronted with something like this. He'd aimed to solve all the issues currently plaguing them, but he hadn't once thought that the circumstances had changed so drastically, that some of his closest friends - his family - would betray him. He'd planned to come back and sort everything out between himself and the blond prince, to talk things over and tell him all the decisions he'd come to make in his week on earth, then sit back and get serious about the threat that Cimaron was posing.

Now he had this mess to figure out and sort through, one he thought was ten times worse than the chaos and confusion he'd left behind.

'_I can't do this right now,'_ he thought to himself, calming down enough to realize that he wouldn't be able to accomplish anything while he let his anger control him. Shouting at Wolfram now, continuing this argument would do nothing more than aggravate the problem. He needed to compose himself, to release his anger in a far less hurtful manner, and then come back when he'd gotten his thoughts and feelings in order.

Looking away from his fair haired friend, Yuuri gently repositioned the boy so that he was no longer against the door, overlooking the looks of bafflement and dismay he was receiving from the slighter boy. Without turning to face him and grant him a parting word, the nineteen year old took hold of the door handle, preparing himself to make his exit. He'd told himself before coming here that he wasn't going to run away anymore, only to fail before he'd even spent an hour in this world.

"Yuuri, wait!" Wolfram tried, grabbing onto his shirt again when he made to open the door, pausing as if waiting for some form of acknowledgment.

Yuuri gave him no indication that he'd heard him.

"Wait, please!" he said again, slightly louder this time, sounding desperate, and the king couldn't readily remember a time in which Wolfram had ever truly begged, at least not like this. "Yuuri, I have to tell you something! When you were gone, Greta and -"

"I don't want to hear it," Yuuri told him, shaking his hands off, closing his eyes against the doleful look on his face, hardening his heart against the sorrow in his voice.

Wolfram may have tried to say something more, he didn't know; he forced himself not to listen. Instead he made to leave, twisting and pulling at the handle until the door gave way, then crossing over the threshold without a backward glance. He caught sight of Conrad waiting in the hallway, the brown haired man shooting him a look that held a mixture of guilt and disappointment, and when he normally would have gone to the older half-human for comfort and guidance before, he looked away from him this time. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be alone.

He pivoted on his heal to head back down the hallway, paying no attention to anyone, not Wolfram, not Conrad, not the maids or guards. He felt lost again, adrift in the sea of confusion that was his mind, disoriented and knocked astray, the path he'd set for himself in his week on Earth no longer as clear as it once had been.

**TBC…**


	16. Comprendre

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Sixteen - Comprendre - To Understand  
**

Lord Gwendal von Voltaire sat stiffly in a wooden chair by Alexei's bedside, his large, powerful hands making swift movements as he began the task of knitting the boy yet another plush toy. Already the once drab and dreary room was beginning to take on a more homey feel, and although he still intended to move the young blond to more suitable chambers whenever an adequate space became available, the room he was currently in had become a bit more comforting to the child since he'd been brought to the palace from Fane. Alexei had shown a great fondness for the Sand Bear Gwendal had originally made for him, so the dark haired man had used his scant amount of free time to create even more cuddly creatures for the demon boy.

The room was now decorated with them, along with many that had been crafted through other hands, as both Greta and Anissina had taken to spending time with Alexei as a way to ease his loneliness. Gisela had remained adamant in her decision to keep the boy in bed, and Alexei had only been allowed out of the tiny room during supervised walks with the green haired medic, so that he could slowly regain his strength without overexerting himself. Honestly, Gwendal would rather the boy be able to get a little more exercise - he remembered how it had felt to be confined at such a young age, when he'd been full of boundless energy - but he had learned not to argue with the younger woman.

Alexei had grown restless as he slowly continued to recover, and although his memories of the attack still haunted him, he was becoming less introverted and more curious about the place he had been brought to, asking a multitude of questions about the palace and expressing the desire to explore its fine rooms and vast corridors. So far he'd only been permitted to see the chambers along the hall his room was stationed on, but he'd been promised a more extensive tour once his health and current condition was no longer such a cause for worry. The excitement that had shone from the boy's wide blue-green eyes had been a great source of amusement to the tall Chief of State, and he was half tempted to take Alexei on the tour himself, if only to bear witness to the wide smile he knew would cross the young child's face.

Over the course of the last two weeks, Alexei had managed to worm his way into Gwendal's heart despite the older man's attempts to prevent any form of deep attachment. He supposed he only had himself to blame, as he'd spent many hours in the child's company, finding a source of comfort in his curious inquiries and unlimited fascination with everything that surrounded him. Speaking with the boy, however briefly, had provided him with a means to ease and clear his often times troubled mind, an effect he had once found only through knitting. The boy's smiles were heartwarming, and the bubbly nature that was beginning to show through his sadness had almost managed to bring a smile to Gwendal's face more than once before.

Presently, Alexei was sitting in his normal spot on the narrow bed, but rather than asking if he could again take a walk down the hall or go outside for a few minutes, his teal eyes were riveted on the pages of a book held by the dark haired girl next to him. Greta read to him out loud from one of Anissina's children's novels - a story she'd claimed was her favorite when she'd first presented it to Alexei a few minutes ago - and the boy looked on in fascination, eyes scanning over the words he had not yet learned to read, stopping Greta every time they came across a picture so that he was able to peer at it more closely. They made a charming picture, almost like an older sister patiently taking care of her little brother, and Gwendal found himself looking up to stare at them for a moment more than once.

Greta was one of the very few people he'd allowed himself to become attached to without much of a protest. He couldn't quite explain what it was about the young human girl that brought him such a sense of peace, but he'd decided not to continue questioning it. For some reason he'd never been able to comprehend, Greta had grown close to him almost as soon as she'd begun residing in the palace. When neither of her fathers were available for one reason or another, the girl usually came running to him, sometimes before seeking out the red haired scientist she'd come to look up to.

Gwendal had to admit he'd never found her company to be a nuisance. Greta knew when it was best to be quiet and leave him to his business, and when it was appropriate to speak. Many times they'd sat in companionable silence, Gwendal seeing to his work and Greta completing her various studies or knitting a toy of her own, with hardly a word passing between them as the hours passed them by. Other times he would sit and carefully listen as Greta chattered on about whatever came to mind, even when half of his focus was relegated to the paperwork that always stacked itself upon his and the king's desks.

Never before had he felt so calm around children as he had and still did around his adopted niece. Even when Conrart and Wolfram had been young, never had he been able to sit with them for long periods of time before becoming uncomfortable or annoyed. Perhaps he had changed as he'd grown older and more mature, or perhaps with Greta he'd finally learned a bit of patience and understanding. Now the task of speaking with and caring for small children had become more of a joy than an obligation. It was one of the few things in life that made him feel accomplished and important.

That did not mean, however, that he had any clue as to what to do with the tiny child currently paying such rapt attention to his fourteen year old niece. He'd contemplated over the issue quite a bit recently; when he hadn't been consumed by battle plans and carefully looking over the nation's defenses, he'd spent time thinking of what would become of the boy. Before he'd even left the decimated village that had once been the boy's home, he'd planned on keeping him at the castle until his extended family could be found. Once it had become apparent that Alexei had lost the only family he'd had in the attack, Gwendal had decided to continue allowing his stay, but beyond that he had no clue as to what to do.

He knew that should he bring the issue to His Majesty's attention - should he and the king even talk after the harsh words they'd spoken to one another - the young king would not hesitate to provide for the dirty blond haired boy. Such care could possibly be a result of the guilt he felt over the attack, but the king would no doubt grow to genuinely care for the tiny child. The double black would do whatever he could for him - that much had been proven when he'd taken in Greta and made the girl his daughter. He would give Alexei the best clothes money could buy, gift him with the room that Greta had once used to house her multitude of toys, and offer him all the protections of the royal crown.

But somehow Gwendal didn't feel as if that would be enough, at least not where he himself was concerned. His Majesty could do all he was capable of to make Alexei feel comfortable and accepted, and still it would not ease Lord von Voltaire's heart and mind. Given the opportunity, the black haired king may even do what he'd done for Greta and make the boy a part of his little family, and Gwendal was sure that if Wolfram met with Alexei instead of locking himself away, the blond would have been in here as well, and would have quite possibly pulled the boy into his lap as Greta went on with her reading. The blond prince had a remarkable knack for looking after children, and it was obvious that he enjoyed it.

Still, Gwendal did not feel right with the idea of leaving Alexei to his youngest brother and nineteen year old king. The two boys would treat him well, he was sure - love him, cherish him - but the thought of foisting the boy off onto the two royals made the older man feel somewhat helpless and inadequate, though he truthfully had no idea why. For what possible reason would he balk at such an idea? Should that be the case, Alexei would be made a prince, and it would easily solve the last few problems they had with the line of succession. Wolfram would inherit the throne after His Majesty, with Greta possibly serving by him for a few years, and then Alexei could serve as the blond's own heir.

Even thinking of it like, in terms of what would be the best for the kingdom, it did not sit well with the oldest of the former queen's sons. Perhaps, he wondered, glancing up at the boy once more, it was because for once in his life he wanted something to call his own, a child to care for himself. Having a son or a daughter had once been further from his mind than marriage. Though he did not have any more siblings of Voltaire blood, he had enough male cousins to make sure that the family name was passed on to following generations, so he had not felt the pressure of that responsibility. When he passed on or chose to step down from his place as one of the Ten Aristocrats, there would be an ample amount of von Voltaire men and women to choose from to take his place.

Only recently had be begun to wonder what it would be like to have a son.

Curse Greta and His Majesty for instilling these sorts of feelings into him. Things had been so much easier when he'd been able to remain dispassionate about everything.

Never once did he think that these sorts of feelings could have always resided within him, waiting for the right moment, the right person to come along and release them.

"Gwen?" Alexei's young, questioning voice captured his attention once more, the child turning just slightly to glance up at him before the dark haired man could look down at his knitting again. He used the name Greta often called him by, having quickly grown out of referring to him as 'Your Excellency' or 'Lord von Voltaire,' such formalities sounding strange coming from one so young.

Gwendal made hardly a sound, but nodded to show the boy that he had his attention.

"Is His Majesty really like what it says in the stories?" the child wondered, his inquiries as innocent as they always were, and yet they still managed to make Gwendal think carefully.

He knew what had inspired this specific question. Many of the stories Greta had been reading to him were relatively new compared to Anissina's previous publications, and the tales centered around their young king instead of the red haired, blue eyed heroine of the old stories. These tales had not only increased Alexei's interest in the castle and their kingdom, but he'd developed a deep fascination with their double black monarch. Gwendal suspected that were he able to play, Alexei would tie a sheet around his shoulders and take up a wooden sword, then pretend the way all the children in town did.

The story they were currently reading through was all too familiar to the blue eyed noble, as he had played a major part in it as well. Each of those involved had written their own accounts of the dealings with the Great One, the Sovereign and the four boxes, expressing their experiences, thoughts and feelings in journals or stray pieces of parchment, so that the event would be correctly recorded in their country's history. Conrart had put down his words with pride, Gwendal himself with accomplishment, Gunter with admiration, and Wolfram with heartache and tears during the months that had passed before His Majesty and His Highness had returned to them.

Anissina had taken a different approach, writing down a tale that would surely one day become legend, detailing the king's adventures in a series of short stories that made up her newest - and undoubtedly most popular - novel. In this way she hoped the children of their country and others around the world would find it easier to understand the importance of every event that had taken place those four years ago, the book in question simply - and fittingly - entitled The Adventures. Obviously her work was having the desired effect, if Alexei's reaction was any indication.

Sighing, Gwendal continued his knitting, and though his eyes were focused downward, his attention remained with the young boy. "Yes, His Majesty is just as kind and generous as it says in those stories," he replied, forcing his recent harsh feelings down. The part of him that remained angry growled at the mention of the young half-human, though the rest of him was beginning to experience some sense of regret, especially as his memories overtook him.

"And strong?" Alexei went on voicing his childish questions.

"He's very strong," Greta answered for him, seeming to notice how ill at ease her oldest uncle had become. She was well aware of the current animosity between Gwendal and her two fathers, but she'd so far refrained from picking sides, and Lord von Voltaire was more than appreciative of her understanding.

"Stronger than the Great One?"

"He defeated the Sovereign and freed His Majesty the Great One, didn't he?" Greta prodded, earning a nod from the tiny boy beside her. Looking at them, it was near impossible to remember that Alexei's demon blood made him nearly two decades older than the human princess, as he wasn't even half her size - sitting close to her with his injured arm still held in a sling. "My father's the strongest king that's ever lived!" she finished proudly.

"Even stronger than Gwen?" the boy asked with wide eyes, and Gwendal could hardly suppress the smirk that broke out along his face at the awe in his voice.

"Mm hmm," the brown haired female nodded with a smile of her own, amused.

Lord von Voltaire watched as they went back to their reading, Alexei's curiosity having momentarily abated, and the tall blue eyed man listened intently as Greta recounted events that she hadn't even been present to witness. More often than not when there was even the slightest hint of danger, Greta would be relegated to the palace, placed under the care of her grandmother or Anissina while Gwendal and the others went out to check on the disturbance. That had most definitely been the case during the time when the boxes had been opened and the dark powers of the Sovereign had been released into the world.

Gwendal could quite clearly remember the day, and the wash of confusion that had spread through he and his companions, as well fear. Yes, fear. For although fighting against a powerful force that had wrecked havoc on the world four thousand years ago had been appropriately intimidating, the thought of raising his sword against the Great One - who had been and still was revered as a god - as well as their kind-hearted king, had been slightly more frightening than the thought of their kingdom being consumed by darkness. Gwendal had been one of the first of their group to draw his sword, and he took pride in that fact; it was simply more proof that no matter who or what the enemy, he would fight to protect their country.

It had been a day filled with both joy and sadness. The boxes had been destroyed and the armies of darkness had vanished, the Great One had been released from his self-imposed prison and the entire world had been saved from almost certain destruction. But, at the same time they'd lost their beloved king, and although he'd eventually made his surprising return, the idea of loosing him and never seeing his cheesy grin again had pained more than his tearful youngest brother. Even now Gwendal internally shivered at the possibility of something happening to the boy. Despite his many mistakes, His Majesty was still a force he and the others would be unable to live without.

The king had only just returned to this world once more before Gwendal had made his way into Alexei's tiny room, and the confrontation that had taken place left Lord von Voltaire feeling the smallest twinge of regret. He could hide it well, and for a little while he'd even managed to convince himself that he didn't care about the stress and turmoil his actions had brought to Wolfram and the double black, but he'd been lying to himself the entire time. Witnessing the anger that had bloomed across the king's face when he'd read over the Declaration, and watching as he'd stormed away after his argument with the blond prince had left Gwendal feeling exceptionally guilty.

He didn't regret drafting the Declaration or even having it signed, but he wished he could have done so without causing so much trouble and grief. Regardless of his harsh words and forceful actions, Gwendal cared deeply for his youngest brother - though he would never express those feelings out loud, choosing instead to keep them to himself. It had taken a lot of strength and most of his courage to pressure the boy into signing the Declaration of War, and most of what he'd said and done had been forced, though he doubted anyone else in the room had even noticed how hard it had been for him to glare at the boy so darkly while Wolfram had been gazing up at him with betrayal in his wide green eyes.

In truth, Gwendal was proud of his blond brother, though he'd rarely let anyone know it. Wolfram had grown from a spoiled, selfish child into a strong, capable, and compassionate young man. He almost envied the boy, that the blond could express his thoughts and feelings so passionately and allow himself the attachments Gwendal shied away from, bonds that gave him strength instead of making him weaker. His proudest moment had been when His Majesty had been forced to choose between the Great Demon Kingdom and Earth, and Wolfram had selflessly told him to return to his family.

He'd been surprised at the time. To think that Wolfram would willingly give up what he'd considered the most important thing in the word, and then watch as the young prince had cried in his efforts not to run after the king and pull him back, had been proof enough of how deeply Wolfram felt for him. Gwendal had always suspected, but he hadn't been sure until that moment, as they'd watched their king disappear with his older brother and the Great Sage, and Wolfram had collapsed to his knees, wracked with heavy sobs.

To forsake his own happiness for the happiness of others… Lord von Voltaire admired him for it, and sometimes wondered if he could have done the same thing had he been in such a situation.

"Gwen?" Alexei's young, boyish voice broke through his thoughts again, causing Gwendal to look up and focus his gaze upon him. He and Greta had paused in their reading once again, the demon child looking up at him with a mixture of hope and fear, appearing a little shy.

"What is it?" he asked in reply, his hands still moving - a little clumsily - to finish the plush toy he'd so recently begun.

"Can I stay here?" the boy wondered cautiously, as if he wasn't quite sure it was an appropriate question to be asking some one who was so much older, and whose status was so much higher than his own.

"You've been here for the past two weeks," Gwendal patiently pointed out, having a feeling he knew exactly where Alexei was heading with this series of inquiries. "Why wouldn't you be allowed to remain here even longer?"

"But…" the tiny blond tried again, cuddled close to Greta's side, looking so vulnerable. "Can I stay… forever?" he finally asked, so sweet and innocent it would have killed the Chief of State to tell him 'no.'

"Would you like that?" he asked instead, watching the happy grin that spread across his face.

"Yes!" Alexei exclaimed, happier than Gwendal could remember him being since he'd first been brought here. "I want to stay here in the castle with you and Greta! Can I? Can I stay with you?"

"I don't see why that would be a problem. I'm sure His Majesty would not protest."

Alexei nearly jumped out of the bed at his words, his excitement mirrored in the happy look on the Princess' face. Gwendal felt his heart warm at the sight, though nothing more than a hint of a smirk pulled at his lips.

Maybe he still didn't truly know what he could do for the boy in order to bring his happiness back fully, but he had a feeling this was as good a start as any.

* * *

Yuuri listened to the loud crack of the bat as he sent the white ball soaring into the air, watching it fly across the stadium and inevitably land somewhere out of the ballpark.

It had been a long time since he'd stood astride home plate and taken part in his favorite pastime. Since graduating high school most of his days had seen him in the Great Demon Kingdom, passing the time by sorting through paperwork and sitting down for meals with foreign dignitaries, the fun and games of childhood and adolescence giving way to the duties and responsibilities of adulthood. The last time he'd been on this field that his half-human guardian had commissioned for him had been to watch and teach some of the village children to play. Rarely had he been able to partake in even a single game over the course of the last few years.

Even so, the ball field brought him a source of comfort, a place of familiarity that he could use as an escape from all that troubled him without having to leave the Great Demon Kingdom and return to Earth. He'd come out here soon after confronting his blond haired friend, using this time to himself as an opportunity to cool down, so that he would not be given the chance to do something he'd end up regretting, or cause any more damage to their already tarnished relationship. He'd bounded onto Ao as soon as he'd made it to the stables, and had ridden out here as fast as he could, heedless of the guards that followed him. He ignored them easily enough, his uncharacteristic anger more than sufficient to have them standing a good distance away, afraid of bothering the irate king.

His wooden bat at hand, reminiscent of the professional bats used in his home world, Yuuri picked up another ball from the basket he'd retrieved upon his arrival. Swiftly he tossed the spherical object into the air in front of him, and once it had descended to the right level he lashed out in a powerful swing, something inside of him reveling at that split second of impact before he was again watching the sphere streak across the park, landing this time in the wooden bleachers in centerfield. He continued this same routine a few more times, taking out his rage on the basket full of baseballs instead of those who had caused him to feel this way.

'_Damn you, Wolfram,'_ he thought the whole time, teeth still tightly clenched. _'Damn you to hell.'_

Many times in his youth he'd attempted to force such harsh thoughts and feelings down, choosing to focus instead on things of a greater importance, the process of improving his skills and conditioning his body usually enough to adequately distract him. Before it had been so easy to lose himself in his favorite sport; with a simple swing of the bat he'd been able to envision himself facing down a famed big league pitcher, surrounded on all sides by adoring fans; merely playing catch with Conrad had caused him to imagine what it would be like to play ball professionally, to get his chance to prove himself in the sport's birthplace, the United States. Now he couldn't fall into those fantasies, he couldn't escape into his childhood dreams.

He'd never been so angry at someone in his entire life. It was overwhelming, and even a little frightening, to feel so out of control of the events presently taking place around him. He'd grown so used to making the decisions, accustomed to giving the orders and not having his demands questioned. Suddenly he felt out of place in his own country, lost among his own friends - like he didn't even know them - and he didn't have a clue as to what to do about it. How dare they make these sorts of decisions without first consulting him about the issue? Who the hell did Wolfram think he was, deceiving him so casually and signing a Declaration of War behind his back?

He ignored the memory of the look that had been in the prince's eyes when he'd left him, how he'd appeared so shattered and full of regrets. A perverse part of him had rejoiced in the fact that he was so obviously in pain, wanted his blond haired friend to hurt as much as he'd been hurt. That half of him wanted to lash out at more than an innocent ball, wanted to scream into Wolfram's face until he wept and begged for forgiveness. He didn't care how vicious or cruel thoughts like those made him seem. The only thing he wanted was a release from all this heartache and pain. He wanted things to go back to the way they'd been when he'd first arrived in this world.

Everything had been so simple then. It all seemed so predictable now that he looked back over it, though at the time he'd been just as confused as he was currently. He'd be unexpectedly dragged to this world, told of the current troubles, then set out on one adventure or another in an effort to solve the world's problems. Once he'd completed whatever he was needed for he was unceremoniously sent back home. The most he'd had to worry about had been pirate attacks or random kidnappings. Even his trials with the forbidden boxes and the darkness within them had not seemed as threatening to he and his people as the thought of warfare, though that power could have very easily destroyed the world.

He supposed the difference between now and then was that he'd been able to believe that everything would turn out fine in the end. He'd had an answer for every question, and a solution for every problem or threat.

Stoffel wanted to regain the powers he'd had as regent during his younger sister's reign? No, he wasn't really a bad person. He was just a little misguided. It was okay to be wary around him, but he really couldn't do any harm. There was no cause for concern.

Conrad turned traitor and allied himself with the king of Cimaron? It wasn't his fault. He would come back; he had to. Conrad wouldn't really abandon him. It was impossible.

The humans had found one of the four boxes? No big deal. They'd just go and retrieve it from them. They could protect them in the Great Demon Kingdom, where they could rest in the Castle of the Original King without posing a threat to anyone.

Wolfram's heart had been taken as a key? _'I can get it back. I promise I'll get it back. I won't leave you, Wolfram, I swear. You'll be alright. You have to be. You can't leave me.'_

Now the level of predictability had steadily decreased, as had his confidence. He awoke every morning next to a fitfully sleeping blond in a pale pink nightgown, completed his morning exercise routine with Conrad before taking a bath and sitting down to breakfast with everyone, but after that he had no clue as to how he would spend his day. Sometimes it would be the obligatory paperwork, other times his waking hours would consist of going over maps with Gwendal and his other advisers, listening to them go on and on about Cimaron and their other enemies, and sometimes he would even spend hours taking foreign visitors on a tour of the castle and it's surrounding capital. Rarely were his days peaceful and free of stress.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to bed without the thought of something weighing down on him, or the last time he'd slept through the entire night. He went to bed late and woke up early.

"Yuuri!" he heard a familiar voice calling his name, as well as the trampling of a horse at it approached the stadium. He ignored the single-worded plea for his attention, continuing his current hobby of senselessly whacking a quick succession of baseballs.

It wasn't long before the owner of the voice stood by his side, close enough so that they could converse but far enough away from the enraged king so that he would not be injured unintentionally. Yuuri hadn't truthfully expected Conrad to leave him alone when he'd ignored him, nor did he delude himself into believing that the brown haired man would leave before the two of them were able to talk this out. Conrad had come with a purpose in mind, and the half-human king knew he was stubborn enough not to make his leave until he'd completed it. Yuuri knew he wasn't going to get out of this without having a conversation with him, but that didn't mean he couldn't try.

"Yuuri," his half-human guardian tried again, his call a bit more quiet now that they were in such close proximity. The two guards that had originally followed the double black remained within sight, and neither Conrad nor Yuuri wished for them to overhear.

"I don't want to talk right now, Conrad," the demon king warned him, his own voice coming out somewhat harsher than usual, sounding - even in his own ears - a bit strained. Carelessly he swung at another ball, feeling a little defeated when, instead of soaring high into the evening sky and heading towards the horizon where the sun had half set, it sunk towards the ground, skipping over the pitchers mound before ricocheting off of second base and rolling into shallow right field.

"You may not want to, Your Majesty," Conrad calmly replied, "but I believe you need to."

Yuuri failed to say anything in return, frowning deeply as he bent to fish another ball out of the almost empty basket.

"It's been a while since we've been able to speak with one another outside of the company of others," the brunet soldier observed, carefully watching Yuuri's reactions. "It's dangerous for you to be out here on your own," he said then, hoping to gain more of his attention.

The black haired king snorted, Conrad's words and mere presence distracting him enough so that his next swing missed, the ball landing in the dirt around his feet. "Wouldn't be if we weren't at war," he angrily bit out, retrieving the spherical object in order to try again. This time the hit connect, sending the ball out to the warning track in left field.

"Perhaps," his guardian serenely agreed, warm brown eyes still focused on the figure of the younger man. "You've been gone for a week, Your Majesty. With the state our world is currently in, numerous things can happen in the span of seven days."

"Obviously," was Yuuri's bitter reply.

"You're angry."

The king snorted again at his simple observation, plucking yet another ball out of the basket. "That," he began, tossing his intended target up and hitting it into the outfield where it hit the grass and then bounced into the bleachers, "is an understatement," he completed his sentence, stopping for only a second to wipe a few drops of sweat off of his brow. The weather was surprisingly cool for this time of year, but his state of activeness without taking a break had lead him to perspiration.

"Do you oppose this war that much?" Conrad wondered, making no move to further approach.

Yuuri tossed him a heavy glare, his hands tightening their grip on the bat, the lithe muscles he'd developed over the years bunching and shifting under the tanned skin of his arms, his rolled up sleeves making the movement visible. It was just another testament of the power he'd gained since childhood, when his physical appearance had been far from impressive. "Do you?" he finally asked, taking a few experimental swings before beginning again.

"Sometimes war is necessary," the captain told him, keeping his voice as calm and soothing as possible, so as not to further agitate his charge. "As much as we would all rather have peace, it cannot last forever," he continued sagely, his past experiences allowing him to speak of such things truthfully.

Yuuri, as usual, didn't want to believe it. "Maybe if people actually stopped to listen and weren't so hell bent on destroying one another just because of their differences…" he trailed off, not having to finish his statement for the older man to know how he felt about the issue.

Conrad's lips fell into a sad frown. "You're disappointed in Wolfram."

"That," the king started, onyx eyes narrowing even further at both his guardians words and the fact that his basket was now completely empty, leaving him with nothing to take out his rage on, "is also an understatement."

"He has done nothing wrong."

"He made a promise and he broke it," Yuuri glared at the slightly taller man, remembering a time when the top of his head had barely reached the line of Conrad's shoulders; now he was only two or so inches away from being able to look him straight in the eye. "He gave me his word," he added.

"He doesn't want this war any more than you do."

The king snorted in disbelief a third time, taking a few steps back in order to lean his bat against the fence behind him. "Could have fooled me," he muttered under his breath, though it was just loud enough that he was sure Conrad hear it.

"I don't think you understand him very well," his guardian said with a small, sad smile.

"What's to understand?" Yuuri wondered with a quick shrug, the thought of his blond haired friend not making him feel any better about the situation. "He's impulsive, rash, arrogant, spoiled, selfish, close minded…" In his anger he forgot that these were the very things that had endeared Wolfram to him in the first place.

"In love with you," Conrad's sudden statement caused Yuuri to stop mid-sentence, the Japanese young man turning to peer at him, curious over his words. He knew the older man was right, but what did that have to do with Wolfram's decision to go to war? "He lives to serve you, just as I do."

Yuuri's frowned remained. "You certainly do a better job of that than he does," he observed, momentarily forgetting all the things the prince had done to cause him to cherish his friendship as much as he did.

"Do I?"

The curiosity in Conrad's questioning voice and the somewhat skeptical look in his hazel eyes led Yuuri to fall into his memories again, knowing exactly what he'd been thinking of as he'd posed that particular inquiry. Conrad has served him well over the four years that he had been king, protecting him, following his wishes, and rarely questioning him, guiding him along a path that had successfully confused him often. Only once had Conrad strayed, and though it had hurt Yuuri greatly, never once had he blamed the older man for it. No matter what the brown haired soldier did, he'd always trust and believe in him.

"Even after what happened with Cimaron in the past," he said with a tiny, barely noticeable smile, "you're still the only one I can always depend on," the king finished sadly, thinking again of Gwendal and the recently crowned prince, and even the gap that had suddenly formed between he and Murata.

"Isn't that what you said to Wolfram?" the brown haired captain wondered softly.

Yuuri quickly turned from the look that was being directed his way, telling himself that it was foolish to feel as guilty as he was slowly beginning to feel when Wolfram was the one who'd been at fault. "Yeah, well," he said, voice still nothing more than a low mutter. "I was wrong," he elaborated, the pain of betrayal still too fresh.

"You think he wanted to sign that paper?" Conrad asked him, as calm as always, though there was a strange sort of desperation in his words. "You think it was easy for him?" he tried again, eyes carefully trained upon the younger half-human. "He argued with Gwendal and tried to come up with another solution, and in the end there was none." He paused, his frown deepening only slightly. "You didn't see him afterward, how upset he was, how convinced he was that you'd hate him."

"I don't…" the more youthful of the two began, feeling his guilt increase to match the level of his anger. "I don't hate him."

How could he possibly hate Wolfram, after everything they'd been through together? Sure, he'd been annoyed with him more than a handful of times - the boy's jealousy had led them into more arguments than Yuuri could even remember - and he'd been angry enough at the boy to call him names on more than one occasion. Hell, he'd hit him once, long ago when they'd first met, and though the meaning of a slap was different in this word than it was on his own, he still saw it as an act of affronted anger more than an act of proposal. But he couldn't hate Wolfram, no matter what he said or did.

"He thinks you do. Since you've returned, you haven't done anything to make him believe otherwise," the king's guardian pointed out.

Yuuri looked at the taller man, knowing he'd been out in the hall during his altercation with Wolfram and had probably heard the entire thing from start to finish. He knew Conrad would always remain loyal to him, but when he gazed into the man's light brown eyes he could easily pick out a feeling he was used to seeing in Shori. Despite the distance between them, Conrad still had his protective-older-brother moments, and now seemed to be one of them. It made Yuuri feel even worse, especially knowing the conflict Conrad must be going through as he was stuck in the middle, wanting to remain faithful to his king but unable to completely turn away from his younger brother.

"I don't hate him," Yuuri repeated, as if to reassure the older man. "I'm just…" Again he trailed off, unable to find what he thought was a correct explanation.

"Frustrated?" Conrad provided for him, watching as Yuuri nodded. "You are both young," he went on, understanding his charge's sentiments well. "Compared to how long a full blooded demon can live, Wolfram remains more of a child than an adult, though the law states otherwise, and Wolfram would like to think the opposite. And you have spent most of your life on Earth. You're still not completely used to life here. The responsibilities that have been placed before the two of your are not easy to handle, not for ones so young. You shouldn't have to be faced with these sorts of decisions."

"But that makes me seem like a bad king, doesn't it?" the double black thought out loud, knowing how much he'd relied on his advisers over the years and cursing himself for being unable to do anything on his own. What kind of leader did that make him? "If I'm so incapable…"

"The people trust you," Conrad told him, and though there had been much rioting as of late he believed that his statement still held true. "They look up to you, and they know you'll end up doing the right thing."

'_The right thing.'_ Yuuri shook his head as the older man's words repeated themselves within his mind. For months now he'd been attempting to discover what exactly 'the right thing' was, and still the answer eluded him in much the same way every other answer did. Recently he'd come to decide that the line between right and wrong was so thin it was almost impossible to see it, and that the two conditions could mean different things to different people, depending on the instance. There was no definite 'right' answer, just as there was no definite 'wrong' one. The people believing in him, then, showed a great amount of trust on their part.

"We shouldn't be fighting in a war," he finally spoke again, still not understanding how that could possibly be the best solution to all their problems. Wouldn't that really only make things worse in the end? "That can't be what's best for our people."

"Maybe not," Conrad relented with a shallow nod, "but allowing out enemies to take control, sacrificing our people without even trying to defend them is far worse. If you allowed that to happen, you'd be letting them down, and then I could no longer respect you as a king," he finished seriously.

"Conrad…" Yuuri said breathlessly, his mouth falling open slightly in shock.

He was surprised by the other man's admittance, and deeply hurt, though he tried his hardest not to let it show. He'd never known Conrad to be so blunt and honest. Usually the older man agreed with him at every turn; the only times he'd ever voiced any sort of objection was when the king's safety had to be taken into account; otherwise he was fiercely loyal, to the point where Yuuri sometimes wished he'd answer with a short and caustic 'no' as a way to ease the monotony that was their father/son, big brother/little brother relationship. He could always depend on Conrad to agree with him, and to follow his wishes no matter the challenge or the threat to his life.

Now Yuuri was being faced with another side of the man who'd named him. His fierce loyalty would often give way to a protectiveness that was equally as fierce, only now the protectiveness he was showing was not felt towards the king, but towards their kingdom. It made Yuuri feel even more guilty to know that he'd put Conrad in such a position, conflicted between his feelings for the king and his desire to defend their country. More than that, Yuuri realized, he couldn't blame Conrad for what he'd said, nor could he pretend he didn't understand. He didn't think he could respect someone like himself, a weak king who couldn't even save his own people.

"It's true that Wolfram broke a promise to you," the brunet continued, his calm voice holding more compassion that it had mere seconds ago, as if he knew how his honest words had made Yuuri feel, "but he did it for the kingdom. It had nothing to do with hatred or a desire for bloodshed; it was selfless act. He's already lived through one war. I'm sure that, like the rest of us, he'd rather not go through another."

'_He's right,'_ the nineteen year old thought, his anger slowly washing away, his nerves easing and frustrations lowering to a level that was far more bearable than before.

"Allowing this war was probably the hardest decision he will ever have to make," Conrad went on when it seemed as if the king were finally coming around. "Maybe you think he's betrayed you, but an even bigger betrayal would have been to continue ignoring this problem. It would have been a betrayal to you as well as to our people."

'_He's right,'_ Yuuri thought again, feeling guilty and suddenly so ashamed for how he'd treated his blond haired friend. _'I know he is, but…' _"I don't…" he began, unable to look the taller man in the eye, his dark gaze focused on the ground below them. "I don't want anyone to die."

"None of us do," his guardian told him, startling Yuuri when he placed a consoling hand upon one of his shoulders, causing the boy to look up at him curiously. "A lot has happened since you left, Your Majesty," he explained, hazel eyes deeply serious. "There's still much concerning our situation that you have not been informed of."

Confusion filled Yuuri in an instant, the king arching a dark eyebrow at the look in Conrad's eyes. He knew that look all too well. Conrad was hiding something from him, something important, something - his instincts screamed - that would finally shed light upon all of this. "What do you mean?" he asked, confident that the man would tell him if he pestered him enough.

The look Conrad gave him then made it seem as if it was against his better judgment to tell him any more than he already had, but he plowed on anyway. "If you were to go down into the dungeon, you would find one cell occupied by two human men."

"What?" Yuuri wondered, completely surprised. Their dungeons had been empty for years; he'd made sure of that. What would the reason be for throwing two men down there now? "Why?"

"In your absence, we experienced three more attacks. Two of them occurred in the territory of Yale, and the third…" he trailed off for a moment, as if he'd suddenly decided that now would not be a good time to discuss this, but he continued at Yuuri's imploring look. "The third attack took place here."

"In the capital?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the brown haired captain nodded with a sad, ironic smile. "In the capital." He paused once more, though the king didn't have to wait very long for him to speak again, for which he was immensely thankful. "The men currently being detained… they disguised themselves as some of our guards and infiltrated the palace. They snuck into your room late one night and attacked Wolfram and Greta."

Yuuri's heart stopped.

"What?" he breathed.

No, no, no, no! That wasn't possible! Wolfram hadn't mentioned anything about something like that, nor had Greta or Gwendal.

His guilt was nearly enough to suffocate him when he realized he hadn't even given them the chance. He'd jumped to so many conclusions, when all the while the signs had been there: everyone's oddly subdued nature, and the sudden increase of the guard. If only he'd taken the time to question his friends instead of so readily acting on his anger. If only he'd let Wolfram explain.

"Greta managed to escape and call for help," Conrad added, paying close attention to the king's reactions, knowing this was hard for him to hear. "She was unharmed, but terrified. They had threatened to kill her should Wolfram struggle or fight against them."

"Oh, God," Yuuri moaned, distressed, as the memories of the dream he'd had on his wedding night came flooding back to him. He could quite easily recall the bedroom scene, and although he had seen no people, the noises and the voices he'd heard were enough for him to imagine what had been going on. Greta had been restrained, and Wolfram… Wolfram had been on the bed. The sheets had been stained with crimson liquid, a sight that had made the dark haired king physically ill. Bile rose in the back of his throat now, and he could have sworn he could smell the scent of blood. In his head he could hear the fair prince screaming.

'_No!'_ he thought, nearly panicking, not wanting to believe that it was true. That had been a dream, nothing more than a harmless nightmare! Wolfram and Greta were both alive; they were fine. There was nothing to worry about, nothing to fear, no reason for him to be so alarmed. _'God, why? Why is this happening?'_

"What did they do to him?" he asked, half of him not wanting to hear it, but the other half wanting to be reassured. Wolfram hadn't been hurt too badly, right? He'd looked fine when he'd last seen him, a little paler than usual but that wasn't such a big deal. He hadn't seen or noticed anything out of the ordinary, certainly nothing that would allude to physical, emotional or psychological trauma. Then again, in his anger, he hadn't taken the time to look at him closely.

Conrad shook his head, a sad frown still present on his handsome face. "They weren't given much of an opportunity to do anything before Greta escaped and called for the guards, though they had planned to use them against you," he informed him, watching the mix of emotions that swirled within the king's deep, black eyes. "Wolfram has a few bruises, which I'm sure you haven't seen - around his neck, along his shoulders, arms and thighs, and his…" he paused momentarily, silently debating with himself before he was able to finish the thought, "… and on his face."

Something about the strain in the older man's voice as he said that brought Yuuri's attention back to the present, and confusion was quick to engulf him. "His face?" he wondered, not sure he understood, but it had to have meant something important if Conrad felt the need to mention it so solemnly. "But I didn't see any bruises on his face when I saw him, and…" It didn't take him long to think that Wolfram had most likely done something to cover it up. "We're already married. Why would they slap him if there's no possibility of an engagement?"

"It's an insult, Your Majesty, directed to you," the brunet patiently explained. "Since your marriage, Wolfram has come to represent everything that you own, including our kingdom. By staking claim to him they've alluded to claiming the country as their own. They're challenging you by threatening to take what belongs to you, by force if need be."

"How will they be punished?" Yuuri wondered, slowly taking everything in.

"Their crimes are punishable by death. When they are found guilty at their trial - and they _will_ be found guilty - a date for their execution will be set."

Execution. Yuuri shivered at the word, trying to force certain graphic images from his mind. He knew that such a thing was a common form of punishment in this world, even in his own country. He'd learned about too many kings and evil-doers who'd met such a fate in his history lessons to try making himself believe otherwise. Many past kings had had some of their subjects hanged, as well as a good number of their enemies, and King Slaughter had found that his path had lead him to the guillotine, the bloodthirsty king meeting the same fate he'd imposed upon two of his wives.

But Yuuri had yet to witness such activities, even after being here for four years. Besides the day or two Greta had been housed in a prison cell after her misguided assassination attempt, the dungeon had remained noticeably empty. Yuuri had made it a point not to punish those who were not deserving, and those who were guilty of certain crimes had been handled accordingly. He'd yet to send a man to his death, be they thieve, bandit, pirate, assassin, or any other form of unlawful individual; the most he'd ever done was exile them. There had been no reasons to inflict pain or death.

These men they currently held captive had snuck into his bedroom and attacked his friend and daughter, but as far as he knew neither of the two members of his family had been harmed too seriously. Yes, he thought it appropriate that they be detained, at least until he was given the opportunity to speak with them and discover their reasons for committing these crimes, and he had every intention of making them stand trial, so that whatever punishment he felt was necessary would be justified and conclusive. But was it imperative to have them executed? True, what they'd done was horrible, and it angered him almost as much as the current war did, but was putting them to death a just disciplinary action?

"What crimes are they being charged with?" he asked the older man, thinking that perhaps his answer would shed some light on the matter.

"Unlawful entry of the Royal Palace, criminal surveillance, threatening the Royal Crown," Conrad began, slowly listing each one, the pauses in between charges becoming more pronounced as he came towards the end of the list, "inflicting injury upon the Royal Family, attempted rape and attempted murder."

Yuuri eyes widened at the last two, and he immediately feared for Greta, but could easily tell by the look upon his guardian's face that it wasn't his daughter he should be worrying about at the moment. Greta had managed to escape, or so he'd been told; Conrad had failed to mention any bruises or other injuries that she may have sustained, so he was able to remain confident that she had not been seriously harmed - frightened, no doubt, but in less danger than her blond haired father.

His stomach twisted into tight knots, and he had to lean back against the chain-linked fence behind him to prevent his body from slumping to the ground, his legs suddenly shaky, his knees buckling and threatening to give way. He thought of Wolfram, of what Conrad had said about the bruises on his face and the meaning behind it, how those men had staked claim and threatened to take what was his, and he momentarily felt as if he were going to throw up. His breathing became heavy, sweat breaking out along his brow again despite the bone-deep chill that consumed him, and a trembling hand came up so that he could press his palm against his mouth. Suddenly the whole situation seemed ten times more serious than it had previously been.

He could only imagine what Wolfram had gone through that night, how the attack had made him feel, what it had done to him emotionally and psychologically more than physically. The physical wounds he had sustained would heal and fade over time, but if what he suspected had indeed taken place, it would be a long while until his friend managed to get over it completely. What had he been thinking while the event had taken place? Had he thought of the king, maybe looked to the door in the hopes that he would come? Had he felt guilty that Greta had been present, that those two men had been able to use her against him?

'_Oh, god…'_ the king thought, the blood draining from his face, leaving him looking ghostly pale. Not only was he incapable of protecting his kingdom and its people, he hadn't even been there when his family had needed him. If he hadn't left, if he hadn't run away like a coward, like a frightened child from the monsters under his bed and in his closet, he could have protected them, saved them, and Wolfram and Greta would not have had to go through any of that.

He supposed it was rather heartless of him to be so concerned for their kingdom now, when the signs had been there all along. Instead of doing something from the very beginning, giving into his advisers' pleas and the requests of the Aristocrats, he'd allowed things to steadily grow worse, until he was now physically faced with the danger that had been lurking out there for so many months. Did it really take something like this to open his eyes? Shouldn't the village attacks have been enough? Hadn't the decimation of Fane proven that this whole ordeal was a serious one?

Why now was he becoming angry? Why now was he so tempted to personally seek out their enemies and tend to them himself? Perhaps it was merely the fact that the aggression had become too personal. He'd realized the danger from the very beginning, and though he'd been concerned for their people, though he'd sworn that they would not be sacrificed in vain, that he would do _something_ to rectify everything, the fact that his friends and family had been targeted as a way to win his attention was more daring and far bolder. Just thinking of the position Greta and Wolfram had most assuredly been forced into was enough to leave him seething.

"H-how… how's Wolfram?" he stuttered, the boy's face flashing before his eyes, and he remembered the blond's most recent words to him, what he'd been trying to say as the king had stomped away. _"Wait, please!"_ he'd begged him. Wolfram had _begged_ him. _"Yuuri, I have to tell you something! When you were gone, Greta and-"_ If he hadn't been so unwilling to listen, what would Wolfram have said to him? How would he have finished his sentence?

"He would most likely tell you otherwise," Conrad began slowly, obviously concerned, perhaps waiting for the king to further react to the news, "but he hasn't handled it very well. If there is one thing that frightens him more than the thought of losing you or Greta, it is facing his own vulnerability. The attack scared him, more than he's willing to admit."

"He was going to tell me," Yuuri told the older man, convinced that that's what the blond had been trying to say when he'd left him there in the music room. Wolfram had been about to forfeit his pride as a way to make Yuuri understand. "He was going to tell me about it and I wouldn't listen. If I had known, I…" He didn't really know what he would have done had he been made aware of this earlier, but he definitely wouldn't have shouted at Wolfram the way he did, nor would he have been so intolerant and cruel.

"Tell you?" Conrad wondered as if he hadn't heard him correctly, seemingly surprised, his hazel eyes widened slightly. "I was under the impression that he didn't want you to find out. I went against his orders by speaking to you about this now," the captain explained.

Yuuri only felt worse upon hearing that, his chest tightening painfully, making it hard to draw in a breath. How much courage had it taken for Wolfram to even begin to try and tell him about it? How much had Yuuri truly hurt him if he'd willingly sacrifice his pride like that? "Why?!" he asked desperately, tears of frustration, sadness and guilt rising up to blur his vision. "Why wouldn't he have told me something like that?! I have to know, Conrad! I have to fix things!"

In his desperation he failed to realize that he'd even moved, and didn't notice that he was no longer leaning against the fence until he looked down to see his hands gripping the tan material of Conrad's uniform jacket. The taller half-human was gazing down at him sympathetically, pale brown eyes filled with both pity and understanding. Comfortingly the older man took hold of Yuuri's shoulders, pushing him away enough so that they could easily stare at one another. Long ago Yuuri may have felt a bit awkward in this position; now it hardly bothered him. He needed Conrad's guidance right now.

"You know why he wouldn't have told you," the brunet replied evenly. "He is a soldier, Your Majesty, above all else. Since you proposed to him, it has been his duty to serve and protect you and your family, and he has made that task the most important thing in his life. That night he was unable to do anything. His wrists had been bound with rope embedded with esoteric stones, and to fight back in any way would have resulted in your daughter's death. He feels as if he's failed you," Conrad continued to explain. "And I'm sure that after his confrontation with you in regards to the war, he's feeling much worse."

"I'm an idiot!" Yuuri exclaimed, feeling like such a fool. He'd known all along how bad their position was; why did it take something like this to open his eyes? Why had he even let it come to this? "I'm such an idiot!" he said again, gazing up at his god father. "What do I do now, Conrad? How do I fix it?"

"You made a mistake by yelling at Wolfram and not allowing him to explain things, just as you've made a mistake in how you've been handling the kingdom, but there is still time for you to rectify both of those situations," Conrad comfortingly reassured the young king. "Talk to him, Yuuri," he told him, the use of the boy's given name further gaining his attention. "Try and understand how he feels."

Yuuri glanced up at the brown haired man during the moment of silence that fell over them then. It was a comforting silence, nothing like the normal periods of nothingness that left him fidgeting restlessly and feeling uncomfortable or out of place. His hands loosened their grip on the jacket of Conrad's uniform as warm hazel eyes looked down at him, and the young king took a bit of comfort from his tranquil presence and the serene, yet confident smile that worked its way across the older man's handsome face. Yuuri's racing heart slowed, and he found himself able to breath normally again. His thoughts were still a jumbled mess in his head, but he could feel his panic and anger lessening, his moods shifting back to some semblance of normal.

Yes, yes - he would talk to Wolfram. He would go to him, apologize - fall to his knees if he had to - then he'd have the fairer boy explain everything that had happened. Conrad could only tell him so much about the attack, about what had happened and how it had affected his younger brother and his niece. As much as it made him ill merely thinking about what those human men had done to his best friend, he had to know _everything_. Only then could he make a decision as to what to do with the prisoners. Only then would these issues between himself and the blond begin to ease. Once they'd discussed it they could move on and focus more directly on the recent changes in their relationship.

Whatever anger he had felt - and there was a significant amount of it - was no longer directed at the demon prince. Still he could not find much support within himself for this war they'd found themselves drawn in to, but he could not deny that he felt a spark of desire to have their enemies punish severely. He didn't think he could order an execution - he didn't want that sort of guilt resting on his conscience - but he couldn't very well let them get away with what they'd done either. Already a young demon child had been left injured and homeless; now Greta and Wolfram had been targeted. They had been used as a means to gain his attention, and the humans' plans had worked better than they'd probably expected.

If Yuuri thought before that he'd been angered beyond a rational point, he didn't know how to describe his current ire. It didn't reach the surface; his facial expressions were conflicted, fluctuating between saddened and guilty, his hands still fisted, but resting at his sides. If Conrad knew how he was feeling at the moment it was simply because the older man had come to know him so well; otherwise his guardian most likely had no clue as to the turmoil he was going through. His anger lurked within him and burned his insides like a hot iron, strong and potent - like it had been when he'd been told of the war - but easily contained this time, pushed away and left to fester.

"Wolfram's lucky," the young king said, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, making one last attempt at gaining control over himself, "to have a brother who cares for him so much."

He could see Conrad smiling sadly at him when he met his gaze again, and Yuuri did his best to smile reassuringly in return. _'Things will be okay,'_ he mentally told himself, trying to make himself believe it. _'Everything will be okay.'_

"I do what I can," the brown haired captain said, lifting a hand to the younger boy's shoulder in order to give him another supportive squeeze.

Silently the two turned away from the field, slowly returning to the problems awaiting them within the palace.

* * *

Wolfram sat upon the cushioned chair in his mother's sitting room, his knees brought up against his chest and his arms encircling them, green eyes lazily staring out the window to his right, a position he'd taken up many times over the last few days, allowing his thoughts to wash through his head. He felt cold inside, numb, almost empty, like nothing else really mattered anymore.

Yuuri had returned, and yet Wolfram could not find a single bit of happiness within himself. Years ago, when the king's comings and goings had been regulated by the Original King, they'd been given ample time to prepare themselves for the Japanese boy's appearances. Each time Wolfram had waited with barely repressed anticipation - a few times he'd even locked himself within the king's room and spent hours making sure he looked presentable, as if his appearance really mattered to the other young man. Yuuri had never noticed, too busy speaking with others to pay more than a moment's worth of attention to the blond, and Wolfram had been left to stew in his jealously.

When Yuuri had gained control of travel between dimensions, their previous warnings of his impending arrival had ceased, and the only way they'd been made aware of his return was through the excitement that spread amongst the maids and guards who'd spot him wandering the halls, or Yuuri would come find one of them on his own, shouting out "I'm home!" with a large grin. Wolfram's heart would flutter every time he heard those words, and although he realized the foolishness he'd exhibited before in properly preparing himself to greet his fiancé, he couldn't stop the joy that filled him whenever he saw the other boy's smile after their time apart.

This time their reunion had been what Wolfram had expected, but not what he'd wanted - it hadn't played out the way he'd always wished their reunions would. Originally, when he'd once thought of their life together as a married couple - if they'd married for love instead of politics - he thought they'd both share a kiss every time Yuuri came back from his home world. He'd imagined warm, intimate embraces - out of sight of others, of course, as it was hardly appropriate to expose any part of their private life to others - then soft words spoken between themselves in the privacy of their bedroom. Yuuri would tell him of his time on Earth, and Wolfram would inform him of all that had transpired in his absence.

When Yuuri had run off a week ago, Wolfram had had no delusions as to what would happen upon his inevitable return - though he'd hoped the raven haired boy would have sorted out some of his issues. Upon the signing of the Declaration of War, Wolfram's entire view of the occurrence had changed, and he'd even begun to wish that Yuuri would stay away for a while longer, that he would either be too scared or embarrassed to return, or delayed by some frivolous thing on Earth. He'd known exactly how Yuuri would react to everything that had taken place since his departure, and the blond haired prince had not been proven wrong.

It had hurt him so badly to have Yuuri glaring at him, his narrowed eyes and deeply set frown darker than Gwendal's had been when his older brother had forced him to sign the incriminating document. The anger that Yuuri had been experiencing had nearly been a physical force between them, a thick, palpable aura that had been almost suffocating. Wolfram hadn't known what to do to calm him - something he'd never found extremely difficult before (this time he thought to even mutter the word 'wimp' would have resulted in a harsh slap across the face) - nor how to explain his reasoning, and though he felt as if he'd made some valid points, he knew it wasn't enough to make Yuri understand. The king hadn't wanted to listen, and Wolfram had been forced to try and speak of the event he wanted nothing more than to forget.

That had hurt the most, to have Yuuri refuse to hear him out - the one time he'd actually been about to expose his true feelings, to tell the man he loved of an event that had shamed him and stripped him of every last thread of his pride. Watching Yuuri walk away after attempting to voice his fears and shortcomings had been ten times harder that watching as he'd run away after their unexpected kiss. He'd tried so hard to tell him, to make him understand, almost certain that the king would finally do _something_ if he'd known Greta had been in danger, and Wolfram would have been willing to sacrifice anything - pride, honor, respect, acceptance - to make him open his eyes.

Now there was nothing left for him to do but sit around and wait for the other man to speak to him again, which - judging from the dark haired man's anger - could be quite a while. Not that Wolfram really wanted to talk; after the confrontation they'd had in the music room, the prince of the Great Demon Kingdom didn't think he could face Yuuri again, much less gaze into his onyx eyes and actually attempt to speak with him. He could hardly look at the double black without being consumed by guilt and shame, as well as an ever increasing sense of self-hatred. His presence merely served as a reminder of all the times Wolfram had failed him.

What good was he to Yuuri anyway? The demon king didn't need him, not when he had so many other loyal subjects waiting to do his bidding. Conrart's skills with a sword were far superior to his own, Gwendal's magic was at least twice as powerful - not to mention he had better control over it than Wolfram could ever hope to achieve - Gunter's advice was more logical, his loyalty to the crown almost unmatched, and the Great Sage's wisdom gave him a greater knowledge than the blond could ever hope to attain. With so many strong, intelligent men surrounding the king and devoting their services to him, there wasn't much else Yuuri needed.

'_So where does that leave me?'_ he wondered, resting his chin against his knees dejectedly.

He'd thought over that question many times since meeting the younger man, and he'd yet to come up with any sort of answer - at least not any that pleased him. There really wasn't anything Yuuri was lacking in life; as king he could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted to do it, he merely had to give the order. There were no restrictions held against him - besides the expectations presented by the people - and he had the means to achieve whatever money could buy, though Wolfram knew Yuuri would never spend wastefully. Their black haired monarch had surrounded himself with those most skilled and knowledgeable, and put trust in them without reservation.

Gwendal had become his second father; Wolfram could see that every time the two reacted with one another. Yuuri had worked hard to gain his Chief of State's acceptance, and even after all that had happened between them recently, there was still an attachment of some sort. Yuuri would always seek his honest opinion about which treaties to sign and how the state taxes should be handled, and yet he rebelled against a majority of his demands and warnings; Gwendal would always reprimand him when he thought the king was wrong, and at the same time protect him from any sign of danger.

Gunter was there as the king's teacher and adviser, and though Yuuri often complained about the lavender haired man's exuberance and tight embraces - much the same way he complained about Mama (and at the thought, Wolfram then decided Gunter was very much like the mother in Yuuri's little demon family) - he put up with them anyway and was even comforted by the predictability. If there was one person who would always support the young boy-king without fail, it was Lord von Christ. Rarely had Gunter ever gone against his orders, and he was always quick to agree with the half human.

For a while Wolfram had thought he and Yuuri could be friends; besides Elizabeth, Yuuri was the first true friend he'd ever really had, and even if the boy couldn't return his romantic feelings, he'd hoped to at least gain his friendship. He'd succeeded in that, at least, to a certain degree. Yuuri had claimed on multiple occasion that Wolfram was his best friend, but the prince knew better than to believe him. That spot in the Japanese man's life had been taken up by the Great Sage. Together the two would immerse themselves in jokes that could only be understood by someone from their home-world, and they'd laugh until their faces turned read and tears slid from their matching black eyes.

Many times Wolfram had sat and listened to them chat about baseball, or other Earthen sports that the prince could not understand the appeal of (for some reason, Earthlings seemed to find amusement in hitting, catching, bouncing, throwing, and kicking spherical objects of varying sizes). Other times they would discuss school work, or Earthen technologies that Wolfram had no clue how to utilize - he still didn't completely get the purpose of video games, or exactly what a movie was, and the fact that one could find any sort of information at the click of a button continued to astound him. The sage could understand Yuuri better than anyone, and Yuuri obviously felt much more comfortable speaking with someone who actually knew what he was talking about.

Then there was Conrart. Wolfram couldn't even think or speak of the two of them in one sentence without becoming exceedingly jealous. There was no denying that Conrart and Yuuri shared a unique bond, one created through respect, trust, and a brotherly affection. It was through Conrart's influence, Wolfram believed, that Yuuri had grown into such a wonderful king, and it was because of Yuuri that Conrart had been able to find the smile he'd lost so long ago. Wolfram hated watching them, hated how Yuuri looked up to him as if he could do no wrong, hated how Yuuri would seek out the brunet's company more than anyone else's, and he hated how Conrart was always there for the other man.

Wolfram wanted to be the one to do that for him.

He'd always been jealous of his second brother, ever since they'd both been nothing more than children, and even more so now that Yuuri seemed to care for him so much. Despite his human blood, people had always been drawn to the brown haired captain, attracted by his kind words and warm smiles. Gwendal gave him his trust and respect, and those who would normally curse him for his human background looked up to him for his superb skills with the sword. He'd had a loving father - something Wolfram sorely lacked in his life - and he held more of the king's heart than Wolfram could ever hope to grab hold of.

Still, at the same time he was jealous of Yuuri as well. Long ago, when he'd been a very little boy, Wolfram had been the main focus of Conrart's attention - more than that, he knew; he'd been the center of Conrart's entire world. Though that had changed with the wall that had been erected between them, Wolfram had hoped that Conrart still loved him as much as he had back then, even though Wolfram himself rarely showed him anything more than annoyance and hatred. There was still that desire within him to be accepted by his older brother - besides Yuuri's love, there was nothing he wanted more than for Conrart and Gwendal to be proud of him.

"Wolfram," he heard his mother's voice calling to him from the background, and he didn't have to look to know that she'd seated herself beside him; he could feel the couch cushions dip just slightly under the extra weight.

His mother was the only one who'd stayed with him after his heated confrontation with the king. Greta had wondered off after leaving her two fathers in the music room, no doubt upset by Yuuri's cold rebuttal and the arguing that had most likely been heard out in the hallway. Elizabeth, also, had gone off after a while, and Wolfram had to spare a thought for her current whereabouts. She'd been spending a lot of time with the sage recently, and he had to wonder if that was who she was with at the moment, perhaps trying to persuade him to speak with the king and help sort everything out, though it was more than obvious - at least in the prince's mind - that nothing they could say could get through to him.

After Yuuri had stormed out, Cecilie had been the only one to comfort the young prince; Gwendal or any of the other aristocrats hardly cared about the state of their relationship and Conrart had immediately gone to follow their emotional king. It had been Wolfram's mother who'd come to pull him away from the solitude of the music room, her slender hands brushing against his face and through his hair in a comforting gesture. With soft words and a seemingly unlimited amount of understanding, she'd gently guided him through the halls and to her suite of rooms, comforting him as best as she knew how, attempting to soothe the ache that continued to ravage his already abused heart.

It was times like these where he could remember why he put up with his mother's antics, when he realized how much he truly appreciated her. Multiple times Lady von Spitzweg had been criticized for the way in which she had raised her children, especially after her third marriage had ended and she'd often placed her maternal responsibilities on to someone else as she'd moved from one man to the next. But she'd been as good of a mother as she knew how under the circumstances, and though Wolfram has said all those horrible things to her a few days ago while consumed by such anger and betrayal, he'd never truly doubted her love for him. He knew how much she cared for he and his two brothers, and how much it pained her to watch any of them suffer.

"Wolfram," she called his name again, waiting for him to face her before doing anything else. When he did, she wound her arms around him and pulled him close until his head rested against her shoulder. He almost pushed himself away from her, but decided against it. He may not have needed the motherly embrace, but then a part of him knew she wasn't doing this because of that. She needed this closeness far more than he did, and he wasn't about to take that away from her.

He felt closer to his mother now that he ever had before; even as a young child he'd never felt as connected to her, as he'd often had to stand by and watch as she gave her attention and affections to some strange man. Now that her journey for free love had been put on hold indefinitely (by her own choice, not because of any danger that would have faced her had she gone), she'd been spending a great deal of her time with him, and he with her, perhaps making up for all the times she'd inadvertently left him alone. He had to admit it felt nice to have her hold him after so many years of craving a loving embrace of some kind, and her often pointless chatter served as a wonderful distraction.

"This isn't what I wanted for you," she whispered, the seriousness in her voice letting him know that the conversation he was about to have with her would be in no way mundane.

"I know," he quietly replied, burrowing even closer to the blonde woman, unfolding his legs to make the movement easier.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. She'd been apologizing for a lot if things lately, even things that had not been her fault. "I'm sorry this burden has to be placed onto your shoulders," she elaborated. "I didn't want you to become like me." Slowly she began stroking his blond curls, leaning down to lightly kiss the top of his head. "Don't become like me."

"Mother…" He was becoming a little confused, not sure he understood what she meant by that. He knew he was very similar to her, in appearance, in the mistakes that they'd made with the past war and the more recent one, though he liked to think - despite what he'd said a few days ago - that he was a stronger person.

"Do you love His Majesty?" she asked him, pulling away far enough to be able to gaze into his emerald eyes.

Wolfram felt his cheeks warm, and he hoped his mother couldn't see him blushing - though he had a feeling she could. Why was she asking him something like that when she already knew the answer? Out of all the people who resided within the palace, he'd always thought his mother would best understand how he felt the most. "Yes," he answered with a shallow nod, saying no more than that. Nothing else was really necessary.

"Are you sure?" Celi continued to pose questions, looking desperate as she did so, as if she wished he would deny it and revoke his feelings for the other boy, though he couldn't fathom why. "This isn't just a passing phase? It's not just to save your honor and pride?"

'_What pride?'_ he thought, and almost asked the question out loud, but decided to keep it to himself instead. _'I don't have any pride left.'_ Outwardly he simply shook his head. "No, Mother, I…" he paused, feeling him pale face flush again. "I love him." Why was she doubting him? Why would she even question it? Everyone else seemed to believe his emotions were fairly obvious. "I don't understand why you -"

"True love is very hard to find," the former demon queen told him, moving her hands so that they were framing his youthful face, one that was identical to her own. "Even after all the time I've spent searching, I've only found it once."

Wolfram remained silent as he listened to her words, knowing exactly who she was talking about as she spoke them. She'd been married three times, and though she'd cared deeply for each of her husbands, she'd only ever truly loved one of them. Dunheely Weller had been that person, a man Wolfram had only ever seen once - and by that point he'd been nothing more than a shriveled old man, hardly the handsome young swordsman his mother had married. But he'd heard numerous stories, enough to where he thought he had a pretty good idea what Conrart's father had been like, enough to know that Mother had loved him with all of her heart, and he in return.

It often made him wonder why she'd even bothered getting together with his own father, since he felt it was obvious that the only love between them was that of friendship. They'd been lovers for years after Dunheely had left, each immersing themselves in the affair - perhaps as a way to distract themselves from all that was going on in the world at that time - and it had only been when a child had been conceived from their adultery that they felt the need to get married. Needless to say, their marriage hadn't lasted long. Wolfram didn't even have any memories of his mother and father together as a couple.

It was only another of the many things to be jealous of Conrart for; out of the three of them, Conrart was the only of Celi's sons to be conceived from love. Gwendal had been a product of duty, an arranged engagement that had led to an eventual wedding, the requisite child, and the death of his father many years later. Wolfram had been spawned through passion, as mistake (though his mother would always say otherwise), his father's fourth child and his mother's third. Sometimes he wondered… if it hadn't been so necessary that he be the key of one of the four boxes, would he have even been born?

It was a question he didn't really feel like coming up with an answer for.

"When you do find it," the demon woman continued, "if you know that's what you feel for His Majesty… hold on to it tightly, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless things seem, or how much he tries to leave you. _Never_ let him go."

Wolfram frowned at her words. He didn't know why she was telling him all of this now, though he figured she was well aware of his feelings of helplessness on this issue; ever since Yuuri had run off he'd been debating with himself on why he even bothered. The dark haired boy's unwillingness to kiss him without fear and denial had caused him to come to realize that Yuuri would probably never be able to return his feelings. There was nothing he could do for the other man that he hadn't already done before, nothing he could say that he hadn't already said. He'd tried everything he could think of to prove his feelings, to gain Yuuri's love and affection, and yet nothing had worked.

When he'd first realized he was in love with the double black demon king, Wolfram had known that to give up on that love would bring nothing but pain. Simply being denied what he wanted most had been painful enough; willingly giving up that love would have been ten times worse, he was sure. Still, he hadn't realized exactly how much it could hurt until Yuuri had been forced to choose between his two worlds. At the time, Wolfram had had no idea why he'd told the other boy to go home. It definitely had not been the first thing to cross his mind when he'd learned that the portal that had opened with the Great One's passing would be the last.

He'd almost told him to stay, for himself mostly, although he did spare a thought for Greta back at the castle, who hadn't even been given the chance to say goodbye to him. He stopped himself, however, knowing full well that although Yuuri had found another family in the Great Demon Kingdom, he'd hate himself forever if he left his Earthen family behind. As much as Wolfram wanted Yuuri to stay with him, he couldn't have asked the boy to give up something like that, not when Yuuri had looked so conflicted and undecided. The boy-king hadn't known what to do, what to say, hadn't know what decision to make.

So Wolfram had made the decision for him.

He'd wanted his fiancé to be happy. For once he hadn't been selfish in his desires, knowing that Yuuri would live with a constant sense of regret if he'd left his true family behind for a world he'd only known for about a year. As much as it had hurt to tell him to go - his heart had hurt so much he'd wished it hadn't been returned to him at all - he knew it would have been worse to see Yuuri's guilt over staying, to hear him constantly lamenting that lost chance to lead a normal life.

He'd been given a second chance when Yuuri had come back on his own, without the aide of the Original King, but he was beginning to wonder if it was even worth it. He'd been debating with himself recently on whether he should truly give up on Yuuri or not. He'd tried to, but every time he did Yuuri would do or say something to make him back up and rethink his decision. The king had yet to return his feelings completely, and Wolfram still doubted he ever would, but the blond would always feel something between them in those moments when they were alone together, a bond that had everything and nothing to do with friendship.

When he did as Yuuri's mother had told him and cleared his mind of all thought, relying on his intuition more than anything else, he could swear he could feel emotions emanating from the younger man that were similar to his own. He could feel warmth and affection; it was subtle, but there, and it was enough to keep him hanging on, enough to have him continuing to hope.

He didn't voice any of his thoughts to his mother, merely nodded in agreement to her words.

A knocking against the sitting room door had both of the blonds looking up, the fair haired boy slightly startled by the sudden announcement of company. Lady Celi merely disentangled herself from her youngest son, one of her slender hands moving to stroke his hair a final time before she was heading for the door, Wolfram's attention turning back out the window. He didn't really care who it was; more than likely it was one of his brothers, coming to their mother to discuss some wartime issue that simply could not wait.

"Your Majesty!" his mother's gasp had him quickly turning his gaze back towards the doorway again.

Sure enough, there was Yuuri, standing in the doorway in the dark pants and white shirt he'd changed into upon arriving, face devoid of the enraged frown that had marred his handsome features the last time the prince had seen the younger man. Green eyes widened at the sight of him, surprised - no, shocked - to see the double black so soon after their argument. He'd expected the king to avoid him for a while, at least until he'd managed to come to terms with the betrayal - which could have been days, even weeks from the moment he'd found out. But here he was now, looking calmer than before, if not a little haggard, not completely at peace with the idea but appearing a little more accepting.

"Hi, Lady Celi," the king greeted the older demon woman, black eyes peering around her to scan the room. "I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier, and I was wondering if you knew where -" the boy cut himself off when his gaze fell upon Wolfram, making it obvious that he'd already found the individual he was searching for.

Wolfram held his gaze as his mother moved aside to allow the king to enter, but turned away again after a short moment. Yuuri certainly didn't look as angry as he had when he'd left him, but it didn't make being in his presence any easier.

"Wolfram," the king called to him quietly, voice filled with remorse. "Can I talk to you?"

"We've already talked," Prince von Bielefeld replied, making no move to further acknowledge him, eyes stubbornly cast aside as he remained rooted to his place on the stuffed sofa. "There's nothing more to discuss."

"There's plenty to discuss!" Yuuri exclaimed, determined, though he hung back by the door and refrained from further entering the room, as if he were somehow afraid - of himself or the blond boy, it was hard to tell.

"I'm sure Gwendal would be more than happy to inform you of everything that's taken place since you left."

"I don't want to hear it from Gwendal!" the Japanese teen snapped this time, releasing some of that hidden frustration, enough evidence that he was still wound up over the whole idea of warfare, and that attempting to convince him again would be futile. "I want to hear it from you."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Wolfram," his mother cut in, the warning tone in her voice enough to make him glance in her direction, noting how her green eyes narrowed, clear indication that she did not approve of his cold rebuttals. "You should go with His Majesty," she told him, firm in her decision and leaving him with very little room to refuse. It was as close to an actual demand or order that she would ever give him.

He refused anyway, frowning as he replied with an unfeeling, "No."

"Wolfram," it was Yuuri this time, though his speech had yet to become as hard as that of the former queen's. "Please, talk to me. Don't make me turn it into an order."

The blond's face flushed in indignation.

Rarely did Yuuri make use of his full authority as king. It wasn't in his nature to be a supreme authoritarian, but when his stubborn streak kicked in very few people chose to stand against him. Even then his demands were not usually official orders; he was merely followed because those bellow him often thought better of arguing with someone who had such great power. Only when he wanted something bad enough did the king make it a royal command, and such instances typically occurred during his attempts to protect and keep the peace he'd striven for.

Wolfram had only been given a direct order from the other boy a handful of times, but each time he'd despised it more than the last, feeling as if his own power and authority was being stripped away form him. Yuuri preached so much about fairness and equality that it stung whenever he did change something from a simple request into a command - and despite his kindheartedness, Yuuri could remain as rigid as steel until his demands were met. Wolfram hated those moments; it reminded him of his place, reminded him that no matter what Yuuri or anyone else said, he would never be an equal to the king.

"Fine!" he eventually snapped with a forced huff of annoyance, trying to hide how unsettled he truly was. Gracefully he pushed himself from his mother's couch and made his way across the sitting room, forcing himself to hold his head high and glare at their monarch levelly. "What do you want? I have nothing more to say to you," he reiterated.

"Can you come with me?" Yuuri requested, and when the blond peered passed his outward frustration he could see a sense of loss in his eyes, the forlorn regret and heavy set shame. It was almost enough to make Wolfram put aside his hurt feelings and ignore the throbbing pain in his chest. The only thing that stopped him from embracing the other young man and apologizing to him profusely was his stubbornness and his mind's reminder of the night Yuuri had left. Would Yuuri even want to accept that closeness now?

"If you have something to say to me, then you can say it right here. I have no intention of trying to explain things to you again only to have you throw it all back in my face."

'_I have no intention of letting you hurt me again.'_

"Wolfram," his mother warned him again.

The blond merely stuck his nose in the air arrogantly, though it was really nothing more than an effort to keep from staring Yuuri in the eye.

"Look, Wolfram, I really don't want to get into another argument with you," Yuuri's speech was interrupted momentarily by a scoff, at which his dark eyes narrowed slightly and his hand came up to grab onto Wolfram's upper right arm. "Don't be a brat and come with me."

"What could you possibly have to say that you can't say right here?"

The darker man did not answer, and for a moment Wolfram thought Yuuri was close to giving up. Such thoughts were proven wrong, however, when he found himself being pushed through the doorway, his mother's startled gasp the last thing he heard from her before he was being dragged down the hall. He didn't know how to react for a short period of time and merely allowed Yuuri to lead him to their room, but once they had almost arrived at the closed and guarded door he planted his feet firmly against the stone floor and leaned back, halting the king in his tracks as he glared up at him.

"Let go of me!" he demanded testily. Once, not even a month ago, it had been comforting to have the other man touch him in whatever way Yuuri was willing to, but now it merely felt demeaning, and he was again reminded of how absolutely pathetic he'd become in just four short weeks. Being lead around like a child did nothing to raise the level of his self-esteem.

"Not until you talk to me!"

"I already told you: there's nothing left to say!" the prince shot back, still struggling, almost surprised at how strong Yuuri had become over the years, though he didn't know why that fact should be so startling. At one point in their friendship it had been fairly simple to wrestle Yuuri to the ground; back then their roles had been the opposite, with Wolfram dragging the unwilling king off to wherever it was he was needed. Now Yuuri had grown, and it was only in instances such as this that Wolfram realized the physical power he'd come to gain along with the hidden strength he possessed within.

"And even if there was," he rushed to add when his statement was met with nothing more than darkly narrowed eyes, "you wouldn't listen to a thing I said! You'll never understand or accept what's happened, no matter how many times I try to explain our reasoning to you!"

"'Our reasoning?'" Yuuri wondered, as if he didn't quite agree with his choice of words. "But you didn't really want to sign that declaration, did you?"

Wolfram froze, staring at him in surprise. Just a little while ago the black haired youth had been unwilling to believe that what the prince had done hadn't been what he'd really wanted. Yuuri hadn't wanted to listen as Wolfram had tried to explain how Gwendal had forced him, how this situation was the last thing he wanted for the people and their kingdom. Now it seemed as if Yuuri had done a complete about-face; he seemed more agreeable, like their short time apart from the moment Yuuri had turned his back on him until now had allowed him to better come to terms with everything.

It was obvious that Conrart had managed to talk to him, and Wolfram was suddenly afraid of how much his second brother had revealed to their king. His startled gaze met Yuuri's determined one, and he forced himself to momentarily forget his anger and heartache in order to hold the other boy's stare for more than a few seconds, looking beyond the more outward emotions that were being expressed upon his face and searching deeper within. It was hard to decipher most of what Yuuri was feeling at the moment behind all that anger and frustration, but there was a good bit of remorse, and something else as well.

Sorrow? Guilt? Pity? A combination of the three?

Wolfram didn't know, but it didn't ease the sudden rapid beating of his heart.

**TBC...**


	17. Menacer

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall):** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting:** Post-Season Two.

**Rating:** PG-13/T for now.

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Seventeen - Menacer - To Threaten  
**

While pulling his blond haired friend from the rooms belonging to the former queen and practically dragging the young man down the hallway, Yuuri internally reminded himself to remain calm. Now matter how difficult Wolfram ended up being, he couldn't allow his anger and annoyance, or his frustrations to get the better of him again. He didn't want to argue about this. To him there was no longer anything to argue about. He knew the basics of what had happened here while he had been away, he knew the consequences of every single one of his actions, and he intended to fix all the mistakes that he'd made, starting with the one closest to him.

Even so, it was still hard not to simply turn around and shout at the younger looking male. Wolfram refused to make this easy for him; he'd known beforehand that getting the blond to talk to him again after the way in which he'd previously treated him would not be simple, but he'd hoped that Wolf would be at least a little more accommodating, a little more understanding. He'd already apologized, and though he knew it wasn't enough to make up for all that he had done, he felt there were more important things to take care of, things the two of them had to get out in the open, before he could start groveling and begging to be forgiven.

Wolfram seemed to have other plans, and fought against him the entire way to their bed chamber - which wasn't a vast distance at all, but with his Prince Consort constantly making efforts to break away, the trip down the hall took longer than it should have. He shouted and cursed at him, forcing Yuuri to tighten the grip he had on his upper arm more than once. The guards stared at the two of them curiously, occasionally sparing one another wary glances, as if they didn't know what to do about the situation, or even if they should do anything at all. A majority of them remained standing where the were, trying to ignore the spectacle the king and prince were making as they headed towards their room.

Finally Wolfram ceased his spirited resistance, surprised green eyes staring up at the dark haired king, and Yuuri used his moment of immobility to his advantage. Quickly he pushed open their bedroom door - not even noticing how he'd suddenly come to think of the room that he'd once claimed as strictly his own as _theirs _- and crossed over the threshold, jerking Wolfram in after him. Only then did he release the blond's arm, pushing him behind his own body and blocking the shorter youth's way as he turned to lock the door, not wanting anyone to barge in while they were in mid discussion.

"Yuuri…" he heard Wolfram say his name, a hint of warning in his youthful voice, clear indication that the prince did not appreciate how he was currently being treated.

The double black merely ignored him, moving back to him and forcing him to begin making his way across the room, coming to a stop only when the both of them were a good distance away from the door. Wolfram glared up at him with his arms crossed over his chest, remaining as defiant as he'd been when the king had arrived at the rooms of the previous queen, green eyes sparkling in annoyance and dissatisfaction. Beneath that Yuuri could see a good deal of worry, though it was hard to decipher what exactly the blond haired prince was concerned about. Even so, Yuuri's instincts warned him not to let Wolfram get away, more determined than ever to have this conversation, no matter how Wolfram tried to avoid it.

"Stay right here," he demanded, narrowing his own eyes to let the other boy know that he meant it, and that he expected him to listen and do as he said. "_Don't_ move," he added as an extra warning. "I'll be right back."

Swiftly Yuuri crossed the short distance to the adjoining washroom, searching around momentarily until he found a square of cloth folded on the counter. He retrieved it, dunked it beneath the water half-filling the washbasin, then wrung it out so that it was no longer dripping wet, but damp enough to serve his purposes well. He carried it with him when returning to the bedroom, moving back to where he'd left Wolfram standing, slower this time, watching green eyes widen as realization dawned upon the pale prince. Cautiously Wolfram backed up a step, increasing the distance between them only a little, his efforts increasing as Yuuri drew closer.

Once the king stood before him again, his struggling became far more spirited, and Yuuri had to move quickly to keep the older boy from fending him off. Either Wolfram had grown tired or Yuuri's determination aided him with an extra burst of strength, and he was able to subdue him quite easily. With hardly any effort at all the taller young man had Wolfram backed up against the bed, holding him in place long enough to begin wiping the cloth along his face. The blond shivered at the cool dampness of the square of fabric as it cleared off the concealer that had most likely been applied that morning.

Yuuri took a step back after he had finished, his black eyes widening when Wolfram looked up at him. He'd been told by Conrad that the attack had taken place a few days ago, but it appeared as if the bruises he'd inevitably received had yet to fade much. Against the paleness of his skin, the blues and purples that had blossomed across the proud prince's face stood out vividly. Yuuri marveled over the fact that he'd even been able to conceal such striking marks. No doubt whatever he'd used had been carefully applied, and then continuously reapplied over the course of the day as it had been smudged or unintentionally brushed off.

The dark haired king dropped his hand to the side as his eyes lingered on the blemishes, his fist clenching around the damp material still within his grasp, blunt nails digging into the fabric instead of into his palm. It took every ounce of willpower he had to suppress the angry growl that began to build in the back of his throat, and he had to forcefully prevent his frown from morphing into a snarl. Jerkily his free hand raised to tug at his hair, shaky fingers pressing into his scalp and yanking on the dark strands hard enough to cause a small bit of pain.

He'd known the bruises would be there; no amount of concealment on Wolfram's part could have changed the fact that he knew. And even though he'd been warned by his brown haired guardian that the markings remained starkly vivid even after the time that had passed since they'd been produced, hearing about them and seeing them were two entirely different things. Simply imagining what they would look like had not prepared him for the actual sight. A slight swelling and tenderness endured upon the prince's countenance, causing Yuuri to wonder just how hard the human attacker had struck his best friend.

Closing his black eyes as he took a deep, barely calming breath, Yuuri flung the wet washcloth aside as he reestablished his gaze with the shorter male, unclenching his fist and lifting his palm to the side of Wolfram's face, allowing it to gently rest there as his fingers softly stroked over the bruised flesh. It was more difficult that it should have been not to pull Wolfram against him and circle his arms around the smaller body in a tight hug, and though he would have liked to offer whatever sort of comfort he could give, there was more to be said - and more to be seen - before he would allow himself to do anything more than this. His hand lingered only a scant amount of seconds before it had dropped away again, Wolfram's green stare meeting his in wonder.

"Yuuri…" the prince began by saying his name, perhaps to question his motives, perhaps to offer an explanation, but he never finished, his voice trailing off softly as whatever words he'd been about to speak died within in throat.

"Take your clothes off," Yuuri said then, feeling not the slightest hint of embarrassment as he did so.

Wolfram's face, however, flushed beneath the discolorations, arms coming up to cross over his chest as if to ward the king off. "What?"

"Remove your clothing," he repeated, rewording his statement incase Wolfram had not understood his intentions the first time, though he thought he'd made himself quite clear.

"I will not!" the prince exclaimed in embarrassment, backing up as much as he could while already standing so close to the large bed. In his eyes Yuuri could perceive a touch of panic, and he knew without a doubt that his friend was reluctant to strip for more reasons that just simple bashfulness.

"Either you do it or I'll go it for you," he warned him, taking one small step closer to let the blond know that he had every intention of following through with his threats. Wolfram merely glared up at him, embittered, making no move to do what had been requested of him. "Fine," Yuuri relented, and reached out to unlatched the slighter man's belt.

Wolfram's reaction was predictable, and so Yuuri was not at all surprised when the blond began to fight against him again, twisting this way and that in a more animated effort to put some distance between them. Yuuri dodged the fist that was thrown in the direction of his face easily, knowing Wolfram would never seriously hurt him and that he was not putting his full strength into his attempt for that reason alone. Managing his sudden tantrum was simple, and with only slightly exerting his more substantial power the king was able to thwart his venture to turn away.

"Yuuri, wait!" the prince demanded, glaring darkly at the taller man whose hands slipped his belt off and allowed it to fall to the floor. "What are you doing?!"

"What does it look like?" Yuuri questioned in response, moving next to unravel the puff of lace at his throat.

"Stop it!" Wolfram shouted, lifting his own hands to shove Yuuri's away, feeling as the collar of his jacket fell open without the strip of fabric there to keep it completely closed.

The Japanese young man permitted himself to be pushed back a step, dark eyes immediately locking on to the skin that had been exposed along Wolfram neck. The high collar of his white undershirt still obscured a great deal of it, but even above that Yuuri could see what Wolfram had been striving to keep hidden. The markings there were paler than the ones on his face, a telling sign that whoever had done this to him had put more strength behind the strikes to his cheeks than in the pressure he'd exerted upon his throat. Even despite that, though, the blotches of purple were ugly, further affirming what had taken place in his absence.

"Take them off," he ordered again, still not completely satisfied. He knew there was much more still to be seen beneath the dark fabric of the prince's uniform, and he would see it all even if it took him all night to convince the blond to do as he said. "_Now_."

Wolfram stared at him for a long moment, his hands having again risen, one of them grasping onto his open collar, holding it shut will the other lay clenched against his chest, over his heart. Yuuri continued to stare at him levelly, silently relaying his thoughts and feelings to the other young man, watching the inner battle that was occurring inside him, able to easily and accurately pick out the wash of emotions in his emerald green eyes. For a moment it seemed as if Wolfram were about to deny him again, but then the blond's harshly set frown suddenly eased into one that was caused more by pain than anger, his glare abating into more of a look of sadness instead.

He watched as his friend slowly turned around so that his back was facing him, noting the trembling of his pale hands as they moved to discard his jacket. The black coat was left to fall to the floor where his belt now lay, before Wolfram was bending to slip off his boots one at a time, feebly tossing them to the wayside as well. His hands disappeared from Yuuri's view for the few seconds it took him to undo his pants, sliding them down his legs and stepping out of them once they'd pooled against the rich carpeting beneath his feet. Last to be removed was the white undershirt, which he slipped out of slower than he had any of the other articles of clothing that had preceded it, leaving him in nothing more than his underwear, hunching in on himself once he did instead of standing up tall.

They'd seen each other naked more often than Yuuri had ever seen anyone else in a similar state of undress, and though he would admit that it had been more than awkward the first few times they'd stood in front of one another without any clothes on, they had both gotten used to it over the years that they had known one another. It had never bothered Yuuri as much as he used to pretend, as he'd seen more than a few of his classmates and teammates naked in the locker rooms back on Earth. The unique relationship between the two of them had been what had served to distress him in his earlier adolescence, what had made things so uncomfortable whenever they had been completely undressed.

Wolfram, though modest due to his proper upbringing, had never felt uncomfortable disrobing in front of him or bathing with the king, so Yuuri knew his current hesitation was not due to any sort of embarrassment. He'd appeared entirely uncovered the first time the double black had found him in his bed - though Yuuri had a hunch that had he lowered the bedclothes more he would have found Wolfram still in his undergarments - and was more than content to wash the kings back whenever they were in his private bath together. Rarely did the prince remove his clothing when in the presence of others, but he'd never once hesitated to do so when they were alone.

He refused to turn now, halting in his actions with his pale back still facing the king, shoulders slumped and arms crossed before him protectively. Yuuri did not allow him to stay that way for very long, reaching out to grab onto one arm, gently twisting him to turn around. Instead of avoiding his gaze as Yuuri had expected, Wolfram looked right up into his black eyes, and the demon king was hit with the full force of the other boy's sorrow. Perhaps he would never speak of such feelings out loud, and Yuuri did not expect him to - nor would he pressure him to - but the look that was being cast his way was enough to clue him in to how Wolfram was truly felling.

Breaking the stare, Yuuri let his own eyes trail slowly over the blond's now slighter frame, reaching out for both of his arms in order to pry them apart and hold them out by his sides. He inspected the markings along his neck first, carefully controlling his ire so as not to further distress his friend. He could easily make out the fading shape of two large hands, where the man's thumbs had pressed against the front of his throat, palms and thick fingers circling around the sides and back. Tenderly Yuuri brushed a hand over them as he had the blemishes along his face, moving the pads of his fingers downward until he reached the next injury.

The laceration along the curve of his shoulder was unmistakably a bite mark, and even after the days that had passed Yuuri could tell that the human and gnawed on him hard enough to puncture the skin there. It appeared slightly irritated, a faint trace of red visible along the outside of the deep blue and violet brand, and Wolfram flinched faintly when the king passed his hand over it, though he couldn't tell if the action was from any small amount of physical pain he may have felt or if it was simply from shame. This wound would no doubt take the longest to heal, and Yuuri had to wonder if there would still be a small trace of it left when the colors finally faded.

Next were the bruises on his arms, directly where Yuuri had been gripping him during their prior dispute, and he felt his sense of remorse increase when he easily recalled how harshly he'd treated the other young man, wondering if the additional tinge of blue found there compared to the hand prints along the prince's neck had been caused by him. He would have allowed himself to give in to his guilt if he weren't so determined to mend all of the issues and occurrences his disappearance had caused. The fact that he may have hurt Wolfram again, however unintentionally - and it hadn't been unintentional at the time, he remembered, recalling his desire for Wolfram to hurt as much as he had - did not sit well with him.

Finally, he came to the set of smaller bruises along the prince's thighs. Yuuri lowered both eyes and hands to the lighter injuries, moving his appendages in an effort to discover how they had been caused. It wasn't difficult at all, he realized as he spread his fingers in an attempt to touch all five blue marks at once. If his hand were only a little bigger, he could have done so easily, and he had to wonder how hard that human man had been gripping onto Wolfram's leg, his blood beginning to simmer again as he remembered what the intent had been.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered before he could stop himself, caressing the pale skin lightly as if to offer comfort to the younger looking boy, when it was really more of an effort to comfort himself.

"You didn't give me a chance," Wolfram said softly in return, though accusingly, shifting awkwardly in place, apparently uncomfortable by Yuuri's closeness and current actions. The king could hardly blame him for being unused to the caring touch on a part of his body that Yuuri had never before taken any sort of interest in. "And even if you had, it's not important," he added after a short moment of silence.

"'Not important?'" Yuuri wondered in disbelief, staring into his eyes again, bewildered that the blond prince would even so much as think that what had been done to him wasn't in any way anyone's primary concern. "Look at what they've done to you!" he cried passionately, quickly glancing over all of the bruises again. "They attacked you! They hurt you!"

"I've had worse injuries," his friend replied, breaking eye contact and averting his gaze off to the side. Yuuri new he was telling the truth about that, but he didn't think it was the physical injuries that continued to plague the slighter man. The psychological and emotional effects it had had on him had most likely been far worse that the blemishes, and would last far longer. "Anyway, I was in complete control of the situation. It was nothing I couldn't handle."

"Don't you lie to me," the king said, frowning.

Wolfram returned his green gaze to the taller male, keeping it as level as he possibly could, as if he could hide how he was truly feeling, how he'd really felt those few nights ago. "I'm fine," he told him, voice as calm as he could make it, though he swallowed heavily afterward, enough indication that he'd had to force those words out for Yuuri's benefit.

"Are you?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Yuuri paused, debating with himself on if he should tell Wolfram all that he knew or not. He figured it was fairly obvious that the prince knew he was aware of the attack itself, but he wasn't sure if Wolf understood that he'd been enlightened on the humans' intent as well. "Conrad told me about it," he finally said, hoping that he wasn't worsening the situation between the two by informing Wolfram that his half-human brother had gone against his orders.

"He _what_?" the blond nearly shrieked, face flaming red in a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and anger.

"He told me…" Yuuri continued, a little unsure of himself. "… about what happened… what they would have done to you if-"

"Why can't he just butt out?!" Wolfram spat, anger outweighing any of the other emotions he was presently feeling, his eyes narrowing up at the king as if it were his fault the brown haired captain had betrayed his trust.

"He's worried about you!" the double black defended his kindhearted guardian, knowing that Conrad had only expressed a small portion of his concern during their discussion out on the ball field. There was probably much more going on beneath the surface, more than either king or prince could probably guess at.

"He doesn't have any right to be worried about me!"

"He's your brother!" Yuuri reminded him, as if that made everything better, when he knew that family ties in this world were not nearly as strong as the ones he shared with his family on Earth. He'd noticed it on multiple occasions, especially among the nobility, how everyone was always proper and respectful, the distance between them preventing them from growing any closer. Things had changed only slightly in that respect since he had become king, and although he'd seen the relationships between Wolfram and his brothers - and Wolfram and his mother - heal at least a little over the last four years, the gaping wound between he and Conrad remained.

"He's a human!" Wolfram shouted, when Yuuri was well aware that such a fact had nothing to do with why the prince was so against his second brother. The trouble was getting him to admit that it was something more than that, something that had hurt him on more of an emotional level.

"_Half_-human," the demon king corrected him, his hands moving up to grip onto Wolfram's shoulders, more of an effort to get his attention that to restrain him, since it didn't seem as if Wolfram was going to continue his fight to remove himself from the darker man's presence. "Just like me," he said softly, keeping his black eyes locked on green. "What's the difference?"

For a moment he didn't think Wolfram was going to answer him, hurt and anger vying for dominance upon his pretty face, before he was speaking again. "He lied to me."

"What, because he never told you?" Yuuri asked, shaking his head. "That's not lying, Wolfram. Lying would be if he'd claimed to be a full-blooded demon. He's never denied what he is."

"I trusted him," the prince admitted, his voice quieter this time as he broke his gaze again and shifted it down to the ground. "He didn't trust me enough to tell me. I was his brother, and he didn't-"

"_Are_ his brother," Yuuri corrected him again. "He cares about you, Wolfram. He just wants to make sure that you're okay. When he told me about what happened…" he paused once more, easily recalling the look that had crossed the older man's face. "I could see in his eyes that he was concerned, that he'd do anything to protect you."

"I don't _need_ anyone to protect me!" Wolfram hissed, eyes narrowing into a menacing glare that he shot right up at the king. "I can take care of myself!"

Yuuri didn't bother arguing, though he was of the opinion that Wolfram needed just as much love and care as he did, perhaps more, since he'd gone without it for so long. Wolfram was a capable soldier, but he wasn't beyond comparison. Yuuri trusted him to take care of himself, to take care of their daughter, but that didn't mean there were and would never be situations in which Wolfram needed to be looked out for. Gwendal and Conrad knew when it was best to hold their younger brother back - mindful of the fact that his impulsiveness could very easily result in injury - just as Yuuri knew when he was trying to hide something beneath forced pride and anger.

"Were you afraid?" he asked him seriously, not thinking it was really a necessary question to ask, but wanting to see if Wolfram actually trusted in him enough to open up and answer him honestly. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Wolfram had felt at least a small jolt of fear during the attack, although whether it had been felt for Greta, himself, or both of them remained to be seen.

"What?" Wolfram looked shocked that he would even suggest such a thing. "Of course not! That's a stupid thing to ask! I told you, I had the situation under control!"

"It doesn't look that way to me."

"Maybe not…" was the supplied answer, the prince's shouting calming only slightly. "But you weren't here when it happened, so you couldn't possibly know." He lowered his eyes for the third time since their conversation began. "I didn't care what happened to me. I was more concerned for Greta. I didn't… I didn't want her to have to see something like that."

"Why didn't you want me to know, Wolfram?" Yuuri wondered with a light sigh, though he knew the event had brought shame unto the blond haired prince, and to have the king know about his failure only made him feel worse than he had before.

"I should have been able to protect her," his shorter friend replied tersely.

"You couldn't have known that they would sneak into our room late at night," the double black reassured him, unknowingly referring to the room as 'theirs' again, which seemed to be enough to have Wolfram glancing up at him. "Besides," he began, trying his best to smile, "we all know how heavy of a sleeper you are."

Wolfram flinched at that. "I should have done something."

"You couldn't have."

"I was weak."

"They caught you by surprise," Yuuri tried again, not understanding how Wolfram could possibly blame himself for something that had been completely out of his control. It didn't take very long for the king to realize that he himself was guilty of that very same thing.

Wolfram's mouth straightened into a thin line, before he was opening it to speak, his bottom lip trembling only the slightest bit. It was fairly obvious that he was struggling with himself to contain his emotions. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be that helpless?" he questioned him softly. "Do you even realize how much of an insult that attack was to you? And to think that I would actually allow something like that to happen…"

"To save Greta's life," the black haired king reminded him, understanding more than Wolfram probably realized. He knew that if he had been in the same situation, he would have done anything to ensure that Greta made it out alive. "I know how much she means to you. I know you'd do anything for her. What happened wasn't your fault, Wolfram."

"But they were going to-"

"I know what they were going to do," Yuuri informed him, and had to put up the fight of his life to keep himself calm at the mere reminder of it.

"But you don't understand!" Wolfram cried out, crumbling more with each passing second, his hands fisted in his efforts to prevent it. "You're the king, and we… we're married! But even before that… ever since you proposed to me, I've belonged solely to you! They were going to…" he trailed off, unable to say it aloud, "… and I would have let them, and it would have been an insult to the entire country."

"That didn't happen," Yuuri continued his attempts to soothe him, "and those men will be punished for what they did."

"How?" his blond counterpart wondered incredulously. "They're set to be put to death, but you'll never allow an execution!"

No, he wouldn't, but how could he say that to Wolfram when they'd hurt him so much?

"I don't know yet," he admitted, leaning down so that their foreheads touched, staring directly into the prince's emerald eyes. "I don't know how, but they won't get away with it. I promise."

A calming silence descended upon the two of them then, allowing them both a moment of reflection. It was then that Yuuri allowed himself to give into his earlier impulses, pulling the blond against him in a tight hug. Wolfram seemed slightly surprised, but didn't fight against him, sliding his arms around the king's torso in order to return the embrace. Yuuri released a sigh at the movement, lowering his face into the prince's golden hair, breathing in the familiar scent.

He knew he'd been forgiven for everything he'd done and said before, though he didn't think he deserved it. He didn't think he even had the right to ask for it. If he had been on the receiving end of everything he'd put Wolfram through, he didn't think he'd be able to forgive and forget so easily. Wolfram deserved so much better than this.

It was that thought that had him recalling his time on earth, his conversation with Shori and all that he'd come to decide. His behavior certainly didn't warrant all that he'd been given over the years, but he was determined now to correct that, to prove that he was worthy of the love Wolfram didn't hesitate to give him. Perhaps that love had yet to be answered, but Yuuri felt that if he could return at least half of it, if he could make Wolfram feel as cared for as he did, maybe that would be enough for now, and he could sort everything else out as it came to him.

Slowly he pulled back, keeping Wolfram close, but loosening his hold on him enough to be able to look down at him, noting how green eyes were shining up with curiosity. The pain he'd seen in those eyes before had dissipated greatly; it had not vanished completely, but it had lessened enough to where the prince was able to show him the smallest of smiles.

"I'm sorry I signed the declaration," he heard the whispered statement, and knew that the remorse still being felt for that act alone was genuine. Wolfram truly hadn't wanted to do what they both now knew he'd had to, and it haunted him, perhaps, as much as the attack did.

"No," Yuuri shook his head, his anger over that betrayal having disappeared completely now. The fact that Wolfram had broken the promise he'd made no longer seemed as important as it once had. "No, don't apologize," he repeated. He still didn't want a war - and he may never accept it completely - but there was no denying its necessity at the current time. "You were right. There's nothing else we can do. I… I'm sorry I put you through that. I should have been the one to sign it instead."

He smiled regretfully, for as much as it hurt him to say that, as much as it sickened him to think of how many of their soldiers would now inevitably die in battle, he knew that the signing of the declaration was a duty he should have responded to himself. True, it was a duty the two of them shared, but he, as king, should have been the first one to see to the safety and wellbeing of his people. He was their savior and primary protector, and it should have been his name that graced the document implementing this new effort to ensure that they were defended against enemy attack.

The bitter feelings he'd previously held concerning Wolfram's actions in his absence had now morphed into feelings of admiration. Knowing that the boy could selflessly put his own feelings aside and do what he knew was unavoidable - regardless of the fact that he had been lightly pushed in this instance - made Yuuri feel as if he himself were inadequate to fill the position he held. Wolfram had known the consequences of his actions, but he'd been able to weigh it against the consequences they all knew would occur should nothing be done, and had been able to make the correct decision. Yuuri could do nothing but respect him for that; it must have taken a lot of strength and courage for him to do it.

The demon king smiled down at his fair haired friend, leaning down enough so that their foreheads touched again. He stared into Wolfram's eyes for a long time, not really searching for anything in particular, merely loosing himself with their depths. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, he decided, to simply stand there and hold him, and be held in return. There was absolutely nothing in the world that could compare to having the knowledge that you were loved beyond reason, and to drown yourself in those feelings until they filled you completely, saturating every part of your being.

He could feel something inside of himself responding to their closeness, an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the hurt of betrayal or the anxiousness of not knowing. It pulled at him much as it had during the incident that had had him leaving for Earth, and this time he gave into it without any intent of running away. He leaned foreword, keeping their eyes locked as he gently brushed his lips against Wolfram's, hoping he could see his convictions as he did so.

It lasted only a second, much too short in Yuuri's opinion, and so as soon as he'd pulled away, he moved in once more, settling his mouth more firmly over the paler boy's. Just as they had that night one week ago, green eyes grew impossibly wide, holding more shock within them this time, and unlike the previous occasion they did not inevitably slide shut. Yuuri did not allow his lids to flutter closed either, holding Wolfram's startled gaze for the entirety of the kiss, as resolute in his desire to try as ever.

He pulled back shortly after, not wanting to do too much too soon, knowing that, despite his curiosity, his physical wants, and his resolution, they had to take things slowly. Rushing in now could possibly be the biggest mistake either of them could ever make - and they'd both made a good number of mistakes in their lives.

"What was that for?" Wolfram asked in a soft whisper, only the slightest bit hesitant, as if he didn't want to believe what had just happened.

"It just… it felt like the right thing to do," the king answered him, stuttering over his words less than he would have had he not had that discussion with his older brother, had he been left to figure things out on his own.

"I've told you before, I don't want your pity." Even saying that, the blond hardly sounded angered or insulted, and the black haired young man had to wonder if he, too, could feel the air changing between them.

"It's not pity," Yuuri denied with an emphatic shake of his head. It _had_ felt like the right thing to do, but not because of any sort of sympathy he held for the other boy. It'd felt like the right thing to do because he'd _wanted _to do it. "Wolfram… when I was on Earth, I… I did a lot of thinking," he went on, hoping that he would be able to explain with only a minimal amount of nervous stammering. "I talk to Shori, and… and I care about you, Wolfram. I mean it when I say that; I'm not just trying to make you feel better about your situation."

"What do you mean?" the prince inquired, making no move to pull away from him or push himself closer, letting him speak and work things out aloud.

"I told you before I left that I was trying hard to make everything better between us, but I wasn't trying. Not really." He knew that now, and he lamented all the time he'd inevitably wasted. "I want to try now, I want… I want to give you a chance, I want to give _this_ a chance, whatever this is," he told him. A good deal of uncertainty remained within him, but he accepted and faced it unwaveringly, set on moving passed it for good. "I… I should have done this a long time ago, but I was too much of a coward."

"I don't understand," Wolfram admitted, hesitantly shaking his head. "Why so suddenly?"

"I like kissing you," the dark haired demon king blurted out, knowing he had to say it, that the first step in all of this had to be confession. "You were right, Wolfram; I liked it, and that's why I ran. I was afraid of what that meant. But I'm not afraid any more," he continued quietly. It was true to a certain extent; fear persevered, but it was different now that it had been. It came from a different source, and was felt for a different reason. "The only thing that scares me now is… is the thought of something happening to you again. I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

Somewhere inside, Yuuri knew there was only so much he could do to prevent that possibility. It had already been made apparent to him that even with an increase in security, all of their lives were still in danger. He'd known the day their marriage had been suggested that things weren't nearly as peaceful in the kingdom as they had been for the majority of the time that he had been there, just as he'd known that Wolfram's suddenly elevated position would put him at a greater risk. All these things he'd thought and considered before, but only now was the true fear beginning to sink in.

Someone out in the world was intent on using his relationship with Wolfram against him, whether it was one of their old enemies or their newest one didn't matter. What would he do if they were to come after the blond again? He was already beyond angry, and he was finding it more difficult than it should have been to maintain his tolerance and good cheer. There was a burning desire inside of him to do _something_; he didn't know what that was, but it plagued his mind and made him feel like a failure for not taking any sort of action.

But Yuuri knew better than anyone, just as there was a danger presented to all of them from the outside, Wolfram stood an even greater chance of being hurt by the people closest to him, and that, more than anything else, made Yuuri sick to his stomach.

"_I_ don't want to hurt you anymore," he said in a whisper, looking soulfully into big green eyes that were finally beginning to lose the last traces of heartache, his own heart throbbing painfully as he thought of how easy it would be to cause its return. The power he had over the prince's fate was terrifying, more so than the constant stream of energy that flooded his being; with just a single action or a few words, he could shatter Wolfram's entire world

His inner strength slowly returning, and his confidence beginning to rejuvenate, the blond haired young man was able to show him a reassuring smile. It didn't even come close to reaching his eyes and causing that sparkle Yuuri wanted desperately to see, but it was warm and loving, and a step in the right direction. "You haven't hurt me."

They both knew it was a lie, but neither of them felt like discussing it. Yuuri knew he had probably hurt Wolfram more than anyone else in the entire eighty six years the prince had been alive, and it was something he himself would have to live regretting for the rest of his life. There was no way for him to change all that he had done in the past, but he could fix the present and look ahead to the future. There, he hoped, he could get Wolfram to smile as he had in his dreams.

Yuuri said nothing more on the subject, merely returned Wolfram's smile with a small one of his own, releasing a heavy sigh as he pulled the shorter young man closer again, burying his face into golden blond hair and breathing in deeply. He could feel the arms around his torso tighten as Wolf strengthened his embrace, and the light exhalation of the prince's breath against his neck as the other boy lowered his head onto his shoulder. They fell into a comfortable silence, one that Yuuri was intent on allowing to continue. He was quickly growing to appreciate these moments between them, the peace that fell over them after so much turmoil and pain.

Pressed together as they were, Yuuri could feel Wolfram's chest rise and fall with every breath that he took, his smile widening slightly as their hearts beat nearly in sync. Wolfram was as warm as ever, his slighter body both strong and delicate within his hold, and Yuuri had a hard time containing the sudden streak of protectiveness that passed through him, struggling to keep from crushing the other boy against him. All at once he was consumed by the desire to possess him - to kiss him, to touch him, to do anything to prove to himself that Wolfram was still alive and in one piece, that those men hadn't managed to take something so important away from him.

His hands began to roam on their own accord, his right rising to submerge itself within the blond curls that tickled the side of his neck, stroking though the golden mass steadily and soothingly as his left hand caressed down Wolfram's back. He rubbed at the soft, naked skin tenderly, his palm trailing down the line of his spine before the tips of his fingers tickled lightly at his sides. Wolf squirmed a bit at the sensation, but made no move to stop him, his hands beginning to create their own path along the king's back, one of them trailing to the front in order for him to slip an arm up and around the darker boy's neck.

Yuuri released a pleased noise from the back of his throat, which Wolfram responded to by burying his face against the side of his neck, his lips grazing along lightly tanned skin, though Yuuri couldn't tell if it had been intentional or not. Again he brushed his left hand down the center of the blond's back, until it came to rest just above his dark undergarments. Wolfram pulled away then, only enough to be able to look into his face, the arm that had wound it's way around the king's neck moving back so that he could rest his palm against the side of his face.

"So, you mean…" he began questionably, green eyes staring into Yuuri's, as if looking for the answer to his inquiry on his own. "You… I…"

Yuuri merely smiled and nodded without letting him finish whatever it was he was trying to ask, then leaned down to claim the fairer boy's lips in a lingering kiss. This time Wolfram did not restrain himself; during all of their other kisses, the prince had responded very little, pressing back lightly but putting little feeling into it. Now he kissed him as Yuuri had always expected he would, with love, passion, and enthusiasm, both arms circling around his neck as slender fingers sank into his thick black hair. Yuuri returned the embrace in kind, arms locking him in place, hands grasping, and his lips pressing against Wolfram's with a near bruising intensity, to the point where the kiss was almost urgent.

He didn't know how long it lasted - it could have been mere seconds, or minutes even; time seemed to have no sense or value between them in that moment - but when they finally pulled apart, Wolfram's pale, bruised face was flushed, his warm breath fanning against his face at their close proximity. The blond youth smiled at him then, and Yuuri could barely contain his sense of relief, his fears slowly draining away. He traced his lips along the contusions on Wolfram's face and the line of his jaw, making a path of fleeting, feathery kisses down the side of his neck, until he came to the bite mark on his shoulder. He stopped there, exhaling heavily, before he lifted his face to return the smile that was being directed his way.

"Will you let me put my clothes back on now?" the blond asked him, a hint of teasing in his voice, though his pale cheeks remained flushed, and not all of the rosy hue could be blamed on their impassioned kiss.

"Sure," Yuuri agreed, stepping away from the slighter young man and releasing him from the circle of his arms. He looked around for the other boy's nightgown, not thinking it very sensible for him to slip his uniform back on when they would be getting ready for bed soon anyway. Eventually he found a garment folded upon the pillow on Wolfram's side of the bed, and he reached to grab it for him. "Here," he said handing it off to the prince.

Wolfram merely spared him another smile - and, really, that was all the thanks Yuuri needed; if he could see Wolfram that peaceful from now on, he'd be content for the rest of his life.

The boy in question disappeared for the scant moment it took to pull the article of clothing over his head, his arms sliding through the sleeves as the fabric fell loosely around his body.

It was then that Yuuri realized this nightdress was not one of the ones he'd seen his friend wear before - the pink one he wore most often, and then the dark peach colored one Yuuri had come to associate mostly with their traveling. This new one was similar in style to the pink one, in that it barely hung from his shoulders and stopped at his ankles before it could brush against the floor, but instead of being died a soft color to compliment Wolfram's fair features, it remained a brilliant snow white.

"Will you help me?" Wolfram's question was coy, the look on his face inviting, though he remained blushing at his own suggestive behavior. He turned his back to the king, allowing him to look at the gown's fastenings. He could have easily done it himself if he'd tried, and Yuuri had to wonder momentarily if his friend was testing him, assessing the new, broader boundaries of their relationship.

The black haired boy didn't hesitate to step foreword, calmly slipping the one tiny, pearl-esque button through its designated loop just bellow the collar; he then proceeded to tie off the blue ribbon that circled around the blond's torso, creating the neatest bow he possibly could while at the same time making sure it was fastened tightly. The silken azure ribbon was the only splash of color along the entire gown, with ribbon of a matching blue threading through the lace of the collar and the ruffles lining the sleeves and lower hem.

"What's with the new nightgown?" he casually asked once he was done. Although the fresh bed clothes nearly covered him completely from head to toe, the coloring - or lack there of - served as an instant reminder of the dream he'd had on Earth.

"My old one was ruined," Wolfram answered him simply, turning back around so that they were facing one another once more.

Yuuri didn't need to ask to know when, exactly, the old one had been destroyed, since he figured the answer would be fairly obvious. He looked towards the new bed then, remembering his first thoughts of it upon entering - the confusion, and then the easy acceptance - only for it to suddenly have an entirely new meaning to him. He didn't have any doubts as to what had happened to the old bed once it had been taken from the room - he wouldn't have been surprised at all if Wolfram had burned it - and could now understand the exact reasoning behind its removal.

Anger filled him again, permeating into every part of his being, deep and unquenchable, and this time he feared he would be unable to control it. He closed his black eyes to take a steadying breath, but it did little to calm him, for in the darkness created by his closed lids he could see the images from his dreams, and in the back of his mind he could hear the voices whispering to him, taunting him, reminding him again and again of the mistakes he'd made.

_Your fault_, they hissed. _Your fault._

"Yuuri?" his friend's questioning voice broke through his thoughts, the blond haired prince looking up at him with concern, his head titled to the side curiously.

"I think… I need to talk to Conrad," he replied, reaching out to clasp both of the other boy's hands within his own, his thumbs unconsciously stroking over the soft skin.

"Why?" Wolfram wondered, slightly taken aback by the sudden off-topic declaration.

Yuuri looked back at him, his black eyes hard. "There's something I have to do."

* * *

Conrart wasn't very surprised to see the king arrive at his office only a couple of hours after their previous conversation; in fact, some part of him had expected it. When they had parted after returning from the ball field, the dark haired boy had had a determined look upon his face, and Conrart knew him well enough to know that when Yuuri was resolute in his course there was very little that could stop him from completing whatever task he'd set before himself. It was one of his admirable qualities that seemed to have weakened as of late, but one that appeared to have returned full force.

The youth came in now with the same firmness upon his features, only it was darker this time, more severe, caused now more by anger than his previous concern. Beside him stood Wolfram, green eyes fixed upon the king as if nothing else mattered - and in the blond's world, there were probably very few other things that did. They held hands, fingers entwined and palms pressed firmly together, their current closeness a sure sign that they had managed to work out at least some of the problems between them.

"Your Majesty," the brunet greeted his charge respectfully, though with a slightly raised brow, waiting for the young king to speak. When nothing but silence was given in reply, he felt the need to express some of his worry. "Is everything alright?"

It seemed apparent to him that something was amiss, but he wasn't about to jump to any conclusions, not until Yuuri gave him some sort of an answer. The one he received was definitely not one he'd been expecting.

"I'd like to interrogate the prisoners myself."

Conrart frowned at his words, though he could easily guess what had brought forth this sort of request. He did not feel comfortable granting it; both he and Gwendal had tried their luck at questioning the prisoners since the night of the attack itself, but very little information had been gained. The men sat there in silence, staring at them with either blank looks or grins stretching across their faces, withholding the facts and doing whatever they could to provoke more out of their interrogators than angered inquiries.

When they did speak, their words were nothing more than suggestive taunting, insults aimed at their newly crowned prince, indecent comments made concerning his status as the king's spouse. Once, the bolder of the two had even gone into explicit detail as to what he'd planned to do to the blond had the princess not escaped their grasp and foiled their scheme, leering maliciously the entire time, as if such thoughts excited him. The man hadn't made it out of the room before nearly being beaten to within an inch of his life.

They had been starved, struck, and threatened with as many forms of torture as he and his older brother could possibly think of - even ones that had gone out of practice due to their severity and hideous nature centuries ago - but neither man had budged. If anything, it increased the level of their smirking looks of pleasure and the amount of their indecent statements, to the point where Conrart was reluctant to be in their presence any longer than he had to. It was a frustrating process, one he did not wish to allocate to their already emotionally distressed king.

"I don't believe that's a wise decision, Your Majesty," he began warily, not wishing to stand against him, but knowing that a confrontation like the one Yuuri seemed intent on instigating would not do well with appeasing his troubled mind. "It seems apparent to us that they do not hold either you or Wolfram in very high regard. Their weapons have been confiscated, but they could still pose a threat to you."

Yuuri swallowed thickly, and for a moment his rigid composure seemed to waver, but then his eyes hardened and his frown set itself more firmly upon his face. "Then I'll allow you to accompany me."

Conrart stared at him closely, knowing that he replying in such a way meant there would be very little he could do to change the younger man's mind. "Your Majesty, you really shouldn't-" he tried again anyway, not wanting to put him through any unnecessary stress. He had enough to deal with at the moment, adding on any more would no doubt cause more harm than good.

"Conrad," Yuuri interrupted him before he could finish, his voice deep and level, leaving no room for questions or arguments. They gazed at one another in silence again, Conrart expressing his concern with the soft set of his face, Yuuri communicating his stubbornness with the sharp darkness of his eyes and seriousness of his countenance. "I am not requesting your permission. I'm telling you that I intend to speak with them. If you're so concerned for my safety, then you may join me."

Even Wolfram seemed surprised by his statements, his eyes slightly widened and his grip on Yuuri's hand tightening noticeably, a sure sign that he had not been aware of Yuuri's intentions as the two of them had entered the room.

Conrart himself could do nothing but stand there and continue to watch the two of them carefully, frowning just a bit more at Yuuri's remarks. It went against his better judgment to allow something like this - surely Gwendal would have gotten angry at the mere suggestion and balked completely at the idea - but Conrart knew there wasn't much he could do at the moment to change Yuuri's mind. He could try again to talk him out of it, but he had a feeling everything he said on the matter would be cast aside and ignored. Very rarely did the boy give demands, but when he did it was best to follow them.

"Of course, Your Majesty," he said with a frown, immediately abandoning his work and stepping out from behind his desk to lead both boys out of his office.

The walk to the dungeon was a somber one. The halls were dimmer now that the sun had set, the light of the moon that filtered in through the windows not nearly as illuminating as its daytime counterpart, and shadows crept up to enshroud certain portions of the castle in darkness. The torches had been lit at the first sign of nightfall, and a few candles burned away in their sconces, the light of the flames flickering off the walls, patterns of light dancing along the stones, fighting the growing dark for supremacy.

The castle itself was much more intimidating at night than it was during the day; the halls seemed longer, wider, darker, making it much easier to get lost in the vast corridors and hidden passages. The portraits and tapestries lining the walls seemed to become colder, more foreboding, the eyes staring out from old canvases sharper, more scathing, watchful, as if waiting to catch someone doing something wrong, intent on punishing any who chose to harm or threaten. The lightlessness was like an oppressing weight, one that could increase the wariness of even Conrart at times, causing him to become much more alert.

The rooms they passed as they made their way down the halls were guarded, one man on each side of every door, all of them carefully picked by both Conrart and his older brother, for after what had happened those few nights ago, neither of them felt very confident entrusting the safety of their king and younger brother into the hands of people they did not know well. They'd also increased the number that were stationed at night; along with those that stood before each and every door were the men that patrolled the halls, making their rounds every hour and informing their superiors of any suspicious activity.

Neither he nor Gwendal planned on giving any man the opportunity to get so close to the seat of their monarchy again. These precautions should have been taken years ago, they knew, but Yuuri had coveted whatever small amount of privacy they gave him, and so, feeling he was safe with Wolfram close by, they'd allowed him to go relatively unsupervised. It had been foolish of them to think that Wolfram would be able to handle whatever threat happened to surface in the midnight hours - for although his skills were truly commendable, there was still a lot he had left to learn, especially when it came to limitations and control - and even more senseless to look over the fact that Wolfram may need protection as well.

The dungeon was on the lowest floor of the grand palace, hidden far away from the private rooms and offices of the king and his family, secluded from the livelier parts of the castle so that the life and brightness would not be polluted by its desolateness. It had been kept empty for most of the last four years; Yuuri had released all of the prisoners that had been held within it upon his arrival, exiling those whose crimes could not be forgiven, and pardoning those who could. In secret, he and Gwendal had had some of the more dangerous captives sent to one of the country's other prisons outside of the capital - murderers and war prisoners that it would have been too hazardous to release.

They'd allowed Yuuri to venture down into the dungeon's shady depths very few times, not wanting to give him the chance to explore its darker rooms and instruments of torture. He'd seen Greta in her cell when the girl had been taken away after her assassination attempt, and had been into the interrogation room to question a few of their previous prisoners, but they had never allowed him to see any more than that. If Conrart had it his way, their king would never be shown some of the more vile parts of its making, choosing to keep such things hidden from someone who would probably never be able to understand their purpose.

He stopped at the stairs leading down, remaining on the ground floor for a few moments longer, pausing to turn and look over the two youths once again. In the minutes that had passed since they'd left Conrart's office, Yuuri's steely look had softened only a little, his desire to see this through unrelenting. Wolfram, on the other hand, seemed to have become decidedly more uncomfortable, shifting in place as he and Yuuri waited to be lead down, obviously wary about seeing his attackers again. Conrart couldn't say he blamed him, and his heart went out to his younger brother, wanting to spare him the pain and humiliation of having to face those who'd tried to bring harm upon him.

"Wolfram," he called to him softly, waiting for the blond to look up at him before continuing. "It would be best if you were to wait here."

For a moment the blond looked angered, insulted that his emotional and mental stability was being questioned, but then he glanced down the darkened stairwell, and in his eyes Conrart could see the shame and despair, the fear he tried so hard to hide from others.

"But…" he began to argue, despite his distress and reluctance, not wanting to leave his husband to face those men alone.

Yuuri merely smiled at him, and Conrart watched with something akin to fascination as the black haired young man lifted a hand to tenderly stroke at his bruised cheek, brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes and tucking them behind his ear, letting his fingers play over it lightly before he dropped his hand away. "It'll be okay," he said quietly, his voice barely even a whisper in the dim hallway. "It won't take long."

Wolfram stared up at him for the longest time, and it was as if they shared something between themselves at that moment, a silent understanding that Conrart could only observe as if from a distance, watching the way they searched each others eyes, held each others hand, speaking to one another with soft looks instead of words. He couldn't hope to ever know what was said, but when the moment ended Wolfram was nodding his head, giving his consent, and the brunet knew that he'd be dutifully waiting, and that he would be standing in the same spot they'd left him once he and the king returned to the upper floors.

He noted the way their hands lingered, clasped together until the distance between them became too great for them to remain that way, and then he and Yuuri descended the stairs, heading down into the near windowless cavern that was the dungeon of Blood Pledge Castle.

A soldier greeted them once they entered, shocked to see that the king had come into the lower depths. Yuuri wasted little time in greeting him - as he most likely would have had he been in a normal condition - and made his intent clear before the other man could say much more than his title in salutations.

"I'd like to speak with the prisoners. Bring them into the interrogation room."

The soldier's eyes widened, and then he shot a skeptical look in Conrart's direction, as if asking him if he should follow the orders presented to him or not. Conrart could only nod in reply to his questioning look, and then watch as the man scurried off do to what was requested of him, before the Captain himself had to turn and follow Yuuri into the room in question.

The air in the interrogation chamber was stale and heavy. With no windows that looked onto the outside world, there was very little that could be done to air the room out. It looked and smelt old, with cracked walls and scuffed floors, odd discolorations scattered about, blood stains turned brown after so many years had passed. There was a dilapidated wooden table, and two old, creaky wooden chairs, but nothing else to bring life to a room that seemed so dull. There was no need for anything else; why should those who'd committed crimes bad enough to have them brought to the castle dungeon be given even the smallest of comforts?

As soon as the door closed behind them and Conrart went about lighting some of the candles, Yuuri walked towards one of the corners of the room, brooding and silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned lightly against the wall. After a minute passed, he tilted his head back and raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if composing himself and preparing to face those that he'd been warned were immoral and unforgiving. Conrart took a spot close by, but chose not to speak; he feared his words wouldn't do much good, knew they'd either be denied or slighted altogether, and so he kept them to himself, and allowed Yuuri his moment of silent contemplation.

It didn't take long at all for the soldier to come in, he and another uniformed man leading the prisoners inside, their weapons drawn in case either man felt brave or brainless enough to try something. Shackles were bound to their wrists, the chains rattling noisily as they were forced across the dull wooden floors and shoved into the battered chairs. Conrart went around the table to stand behind them, in case they needed to be restrained at any point during the questioning, his hand unconsciously going to the hilt of his sword.

Nervously, the two soldiers went back to the door, but instead of leaving they stood on either side, knowing that their presence could very well be needed as well. Both of them were watchful, their eyes shifting around the room, looking first towards the captives, then at Conrart, then towards the king, though they remained still and silent, keeping their places and seeing to their duties with a dedication that surpassed their inner apprehension. They, too, kept their hands by their swords, wanting to ensure the safety of their king.

Yuuri had not moved from his spot since he'd taken up residence there, though he'd flinched imperceptibly when the door had opened and the prisoners had been brought inside. Conrart watched him still, waiting patiently for him to complete whatever mental process he was using to prepare himself. Another few moments passed, one of the men - the shorter, older of the two - shifted awkwardly in his chair, and then Yuuri was lowering his gaze back down, and taking a few steps closer to the table that separated him from the attackers of his spouse and daughter.

He looked them over before doing anything else, and Conrart, having been in his position as the interrogator more than a few times before, knew exactly what he'd see. A human man in his late thirties, tall and well built, with a scar across the bridge of his nose, and a face that had gone unshaven over the last few days. The other, close to his mid to late forties, with small gray eyes and a disproportionate nose, shorter but just as strong, and - though more haggard looking than his cocky companion - just as dedicated to his silence. They each had a variety of cuts and bruises, gifted to them out of the frustrations of those who'd taken to questioning them.

Yuuri uncrossed and lowered his arms down to his sides, and said not a word, causing the soldiers by the door to glance at one another curiously, and the older of the two prisoners to shift in his seat again. Long moments of near silence passed with the king doing nothing more than staring, watching, and the atmosphere in the already stuffy room became decisively uncomfortable. Even Conrart could not contain his disquiet, glancing at the younger man in curiosity, waiting for him to say something, do something, though it appeared as if he were more than content to remain exactly where he was.

Finally, the silence was broken, the taller human - the one whom Gwendal had wrenched away from their younger brother, and who had earned the most severe beatings - grinned in amusement at the stranger standing before him. "Your Majesty," he greeted, his words more mocking than a true acknowledgment of Yuuri's title and position, and though it was quite probable that he had never before seen the demon king, the youth's dark hair and eyes made his status apparent.

Those two words seemed to knock Yuuri out of whatever trance he'd fallen into, and though he said nothing in reply to them, his eyes narrowed, and he stared directly into the bedraggled man's smug face.

"Here to question us yourself?" He asked the question in the same burlesque manner he'd used when saying his title, as if he hardly expected the young half-human king to do anything to harm or punish he and his companion. "Or are you going to let your men continue to beat the information out of us?"

Conrart almost expected Yuuri to raise his black eyes in his direction, to give him a disapproving look for all that he and Gwendal had done, but none came. Instead, Yuuri's eyes narrowed further, his glare hardening more as his hands clenched themselves into fists. "You deserve whatever beatings they've given you."

At this, the two soldiers at the door winced noticeably, glancing at each other again in unease. They weren't used to hearing the king speak in such a way, for it was uncommon and nearly unheard of for Yuuri to wish harm upon others. When he'd spoken to criminals before, he'd never done so with such a menacing attitude; he was as accepting of them as he was to others, chose to give them the benefit of the doubt in the hopes that they would change their ways. It was disconcerting, even to the brown haired captain, to hear him speaking to this man as he was now.

The human man did nothing more than raise his eyebrow, and showed nothing of his thoughts and emotions besides a slight interest in the king's reply. "Angry, are you, Your Majesty? Since when have you condoned violence as a means of interrogation?" His voice still held that mocking quality to it, disrespectful and patronizing to a man he obviously deemed too young and incapable. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

Yuuri's hands clenched tighter, but he otherwise had very little reaction to the try at instigation. "What is your name?" he asked, his voice calm and level, but Conrart could already see the storm building behind the black of his eyes, the anger and frustration that surged inside him.

"What makes you think I'll tell you?" was the careless reply. A question to answer a question. "Your retainers haven't been blessed with any such information. Why should you?"

"I'm the one your king has a message for, aren't I?" Yuuri reasoned. Although he hadn't been shown the letter that Gwendal had found hidden amongst the mail the night of the attack, Conrart assumed he'd been able to make his own deductions, and knew these men were somehow connected to the group of assassins currently massacring their villages. "The letter he left on my wedding night was addressed to me, and your crimes against my family were a means to attract my attention. I'm the one you really want to talk to, right?"

The human chuckled lightly, clearly amused. "Funny how you're suddenly so concerned for the prince, when you never seemed to care about him before."

His statement had Yuuri stopping in his tracks, and Conrart could also not contain his surprise. To say something like that, to know of the personal lives of the king and the prince, and the problems and feelings that existed between them, this man had to have been hiding amongst them for quite some time now, stealthily gathering information and carefully planning his attack. No doubt he'd observed enough to know exactly how the black haired youth would react, which buttons to push to ignite his anger.

Yuuri's glare darkened further, and the frown on his face lowered even more until it was nearly a scowl. "How long ago did you infiltrate our defenses? How long have you been spying on us?"

More importantly, how had he managed to stay hidden and avoid detection? Surely their security hadn't been that lax, had it?

"Long enough to discover your personal and military weaknesses."

Conrart watched his charge step foreword, closer to the table, leaning over it and unclenching his hands to place them flat against its surface, staring straight into the prisoner's eyes. "How long?" he asked quietly, dangerously, not even sounding like himself anymore, his voice void of acceptance and understanding, filled with outrage and something similar to hatred instead.

The younger captive - which the brunet could only assume was the leader with how he seemed to be speaking for he and his counterpart - allowed his confident smirk to disappear, adopting a straight face now as he looked directly into the eyes of the demon king, suddenly serious, as if he could see the power within the boy's gaze. "Three years," he replied after a short period of silence, his answer doing nothing to quell Conrart's worries. "We infiltrated soon after you abandoned your people and left your kingdom to take care of itself."

It wasn't difficult to remember just what period of time he was referring to. Yuuri had left to visit Earth many times since the beginning of his rule, but the only time anyone could ever say he'd truly abandoned the kingdom had been after the destruction of the boxes. He'd been gone for more than a couple of months, and with how confusing things had been in the country at that time, with the talk of finding a new heir to assume the throne, it was easy to see why some would claim that he'd abandoned them all.

"A very stupid move on your part, Your Majesty, if I must say," the human man continued with his explanation. "Your Chief of State and the rest of your advisers were so busy with reconstruction and searching for a suitable solution to fill the void of their missing king to notice that their defenses had weakened. By the time you returned, we were so deeply entrenched that you fools failed to notice at all."

Three years…

Yes, three years would have given them plenty of time to discover their secrets, their weaknesses, their habits and day-to-day activities.

The question now was 'why'? Why go to such lengths? Why now and not before? Why Wolfram and not the king himself?

"What is your name?" Yuuri asked him then.

Conrart half expected the man to go back to smirking, to refuse to say anymore. He'd hardly said anything of importance when either he or Gwendal had asked the same things, and so he was prepared to hear Yuuri receive the same sort of answers as they had. He doubted either captive would ever give them enough information for them to find out where it was they'd come from, and who it was they were working for.

But the man surprised him by saying, "Ilyich."

His partner in crime seemed just as shocked as the captain, small gray eyes widening comically as he turned to stare at the disheveled and heavily beaten man in the chair beside him. "What are you doing?!" he hissed quietly, apparently not at all appreciative by his sudden desire to speak.

Ilyich merely smirked again, shaking his head slowly, disregarding his accomplice's wonder and anger, and putting most of his focus into the young man in front of them. "My friend's name is Frideric," a comment that earned him a sputter and a harsh glare from the other in response.

"What is your surname?" Yuuri asked him next, not satisfied with what little information he'd been given.

But Ilyich seemed satisfied with what he'd already given, and Conrart, though surprised, knew not to expect any more than that. To give away his surname would make it easy for them to discover the country of his origin, to find his family - if he had one - and would potentially shed light upon the question of who he was working for. If they were to believe the second letter they had received, then this man was quite clearly trusted by the one whom he served, enough to have him sent to a foreign country with the purpose of collecting information and staging an attack against the monarchy. To learn his full name, then, would put them much too close to unearthing the identity of his master.

Ilyich's smirk grew, his smug look swift to return. "I don't believe I'm inclined to tell you."

Not the answer Yuuri was looking for, if the way his eyes seemed to darken even more was any indication. All of the boy's light, all of his happiness, all of his benevolence, leniency and patience seemed to leave him in an instant - if they hadn't been stamped out already - and his eyes, usually so open and warm, became scathingly cold. Conrart was sure he was not the only one to feel the sudden chill that seemed to encompass the stifling air of the candlelit room, as the soldiers by the door once again shot nervous looks towards one another, perhaps able to see the king's displeasure in the way he'd suddenly tensed.

Time seemed to stand still, with Yuuri leaning over the table, and the two prisoners sitting across from him on the other side, the younger of the two appearing confident, the other worn and restless. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Yuuri pulled himself away, straightening up and removing his hands from against the table top, and when Conrart looked closely he could see them shaking slightly. Perhaps the boy had been trying to hold himself back from carrying out what happened next, but either way his efforts seemed pointless, as Ilyich was apparently determined to get a better reaction out of him than stiff questioning and an irate glare.

"The weak king of a weak country…" the unkempt human said of the black haired youth, though whether this observation satisfied him or not remained to be seen. "You can't protect your people, your daughter, or your pretty little prince. Sooner or later they'll all be broken before your very eyes…"

His anger fueled by the man's words, Yuuri was once again leaning over the table, his movements so quick Conrart had no time at all to step foreword and attempt to placate him - and he had to wonder if he would have if he could, seeing as he thought these men deserved whatever animosity was currently being directed towards them. This time, instead of merely staring at Ilyich with his intense rage burning inside of him, Yuuri lunged foreword, one tightly clenched fist swinging out to catch the side of the other man's face, sending both he and the chair careening into the floor.

The soldiers jumped, the older captive sat stiffly in his seat, the look on his face becoming increasingly more wary, while Conrart himself stood still and watched, making not a single move, neither to stop Yuuri nor to help the fallen prisoner back into place. The man in question laughed from where he'd fallen, pushing himself back up to give the king another one of his wicked smirks, his shackled hands raising to grip the edge of the table in order to steady himself. His lower lip was split, blood dripping down his chin to drop onto the floor to create a few small splatters by his knee.

Yuuri stood his ground, glowering down at him, his fists once again shaking as proof of his attempts to hold back, but he inevitably lunged foreword again, only this time instead of lashing out at the man he grabbed onto the collar of his shabby shirt, dragging him up and a little over the table to be able to look at him eye to eye. The young man's teeth were tightly clenched, his jaw set firmly, his black eyes piercing, his glare darker than Conrart had ever seen it. And as the king's glowering look turned into a sneer the longer he looked at the criminal, a familiar blue light slowly began to appear around him, seeming to emanate from within him, pale and glowing, even more evidence to the level of his enmity.

"I will find out who sent you with or without your cooperation," Yuuri seethed, and it was hard for Conrart to tell if he'd truly transformed or not, or if this show of power and anger was entirely his own. "But I have absolutely no intention of ever releasing you from this dungeon. You will be placed back into your cell, where you will be provided with only enough food and water to keep you alive. You will sit there, rotting in your own shit and piss until the day that you die…"

It was then that Conrart finally took a step towards the two of them, his concern nearly unquenchable now as he continued to watch over his charge. The words he was speaking to the human man were not normally ones that found their way into his every day vocabulary, and yet his speech was not eloquent enough to be what Conrart was used to hearing in the Great Demon King's ardent speeches. Had he finally been driven passed his limit then, too angry to be able to force the feelings away, and yet unable to just stand by and not do anything to react?

"And, in the event that your people attack again, or try to place further harm onto my family," the double black continued, his voice low and dangerous, and none of those present in the room at that moment were in anyway hesitant to believe every word that he said, "I will forgo your trial, a date for your execution will be set, and I will have you hanged. Have I made myself clear?" Never once did he hesitate, although Conrart doubted he'd ever follow through with his threats, even if the conditions he'd specified one day came to pass.

Ilyich seemed to share the same doubts as the captain, his menacing grin never once faltering, even in the face of such power. "Perfectly, Your Majesty," he replied, as confident as ever, like this confrontation and the revelation of his and his partner's names were of no concern to him.

Conrart had to wonder if there was a reason behind his show of confidence, thinking that perhaps Ilyich knew something that the rest of them were currently unaware of - even the slightly older captive, whose eyes had once again widened, his face becoming pale and ashen as he silently watched and listened, possibly in fear of what was taking place in front of him. The brown haired half-human pushed such thoughts out of his mind, to be thought of in more depth at a later time. The focus of his attention was now on the ailing king, whose show of resentment concerned him more than anything else at the moment.

"Your Majesty," he called out to him, though whether to reassure him or for some other means, he had no clue. The only thing he was confident about was that Yuuri would come to regret everything he was saying and doing once he'd had the opportunity to cool down, and Conrart did not wish to see his kind soul wracked with any more guilt than what currently plagued it.

The normally hopeful and tolerant boy hardly spared him a glance, although it was obvious that his voice had gotten through to him by the way he suddenly stiffened, his dark eyes losing some of their threatening glare, his sneer lessening back into a less frightening frown. The fist that had buried itself into Ilyich's shirt trembled again, harsher and more noticeable this time, until Yuuri finally shoved the man back with a low growl in the back of his throat. Ilyich stumbled, and then once more found himself against the hard, unforgiving floor, another laugh bubbling out from within his chest.

The king no longer seemed interested in watching such things, turning his back and walking quickly towards the exit of the room. He yanked open the door a bit harder than necessary, practically ripping it from its frame in his effort to get away. As soon as he'd done so, he left the interrogation chamber, stumbling back up the stairs as he put even more distance between himself and the current cause of his vexation.

Conrart dutifully followed him, stopping only long enough to order the rather shocked looking soldiers to bring the prisoners back to their cell until they received further word as to what to do with them. Then he was swiftly traversing the dark staircase back up to the ground floor, looking around to catch sight of the younger half human.

It didn't take him long to find him at all, though the sight he saw was not one that helped to ease his worry. Just as he'd suspected, Wolfram had stayed exactly where they'd left him, in the guarded hallway a few feet away from the stairs. Yuuri had immediately gone to him, arms wrapped around him so tightly Conrart had to wonder if the blond was even able to breathe, face buried into the side of his neck so that the captain was unable to see his expression, though he could tell by the way his shoulders were lightly shaking that he was not reacting well to what had just happened.

The blue light that had enveloped him for the last few minutes he'd spent down in the dungeon had faded away, perhaps taking his anger with it, and leaving behind a sadness and revulsion for the way in which he'd reacted and the things that he'd said. His guilt had already taken hold of him in the few seconds that had passed since his hasty exit, and Conrart was dubious as to whether there was anything he could say to comfort or reassure him. Certainly his own behavior had sickened and frightened him, especially since he'd reacted upon his anger on his own instead of relying on his more confident inner half.

Wolfram seemed almost overwhelmed, one arm wrapped lightly around Yuuri's back, the other lifted so that he could run his fingers through his dark hair. His green eyes were wide with what was no doubt surprise, and his gaze drifted over to Conrart as soon as the brunet had ascended the stairs, staring up at him questioningly, silently asking him what had happened. His confusion was as evident as Yuuri's regret, though Conrart could do nothing more than shake his head. Even he, having been there, could not confidently explain what had happened without rousing more questions and concerns, or causing even more confusion than what was currently being felt.

Denied any sort of answer, Wolfram returned his attention to the young man presently clinging to him. "Yuuri," he whispered his name, merely as a way to offer comfort and to let him know that he was there for him than as a way to get him to respond. He turned his head enough to place a soft kiss along the king's dark hair, then nuzzled his cheek against it.

Yuuri's shaking eased a little, but his grasp on the slighter boy never loosened. It was only after a few moments, when his trembling suddenly stopped altogether, that his arms went lax and dropped away. Wolfram gasped and released a startled squeak as Yuuri went completely limp against him, and Conrart had to quickly move foreword to assist him, the king's full weight now too heavy for the prince to be able to support for longer than a few seconds without having to lower the both of them to the ground.

"What happened?" Wolfram asked once the captain had enlisted the help of a couple of the guards to transport the king to his room, green eyes filled with worry, entreating him to explain, to reassure him that Yuuri was alright.

Conrart merely shook his head again, placing his hand comfortingly against his younger brother's shoulder, before walking with him down the hallways, following along as Yuuri was taken to be placed in bed, leaving the darkness of the dungeon behind them.

* * *

Yuuri didn't awaken until the next morning, coming out of his sleeping state slowly, drifting for a while in a period of half wakefulness before his eyes fluttered open and he stared blearily at the top of the canopy. For a moment he wondered what he was doing back at the palace, before the previous day's myriad of events made themselves known in his mind. His anger and confusion when discovering the current war, the way he'd yelled and argued with Wolfram over his signing of the declaration, his conversation with Conrad and the concern it had caused him to feel for his blond haired friend. Then his second confrontation with Wolfram, seeing the bruises that marred his skin and feeling the uncontrollable anger it had invoked, before recalling his trip down to the dungeon, and everything that had happened there.

Immediately he was consumed by a wave of shame for how he'd acted, what he'd done and said to the prisoners, only to be wracked by a sense of confusion next, thinking that he couldn't have expected to treat them any differently. What they'd done - or tried - had been a serious crime, and it was only right to have them punished for it; that didn't stop him from feeling the way he did, though. No matter how much he tried to justify it, he didn't enjoy having the fate of another person in his hands. Their life or death was not something he wanted weighing down on his conscience.

But, despite his guilt, despite his unwillingness to carry out the threats he'd posed to them, those men had attacked Wolfram and Greta, and for that they could never be forgiven. He may not want to implement any form of overly harsh punishment, but that wouldn't stop him from keeping both Ilyich and Frideric locked away for the rest of their lives. He'd feed them, he'd have his medical staff treat them if they were to fall ill, but they would never be released from their prison; he wasn't about to give them the opportunity to cause harm to those he cared about again.

Once he'd fortified himself, and convinced himself that this was for the best, that he wasn't doing anything wrong by treating those two men in such a way, only then did he release a sigh, and begin to take in the things that surrounded him. No longer thinking such dark, depressing thoughts, he was able to concentrate more fully on the weight he suddenly realized was lying against them, and when he looked down to see what it was, he found that he wasn't surprised at all to see a head of blond hair resting against his chest and shoulder.

Wolfram was sleeping peacefully, eyes lightly closed and long lashes resting against his fair cheeks, the bruises along his skin still visible, though they did nothing to take away from the picture of innocence the prince had become as he lost himself in his dreams. His facial features were smoother, his mouth no longer frowning, his brow no longer creased in thought, and it was as if he felt no stress or resentment, his posture completely relaxed as he rested against him. He looked young, free of doubts and worries, the soft rays of the rising sun that streamed through the windows glinting off a his golden hair. It was probably the most clichéd thought he'd ever had when he marveled over how heavenly his friend looked at that moment, but he hardly cared about sappy words and overused phrases when Wolfram seemed so serene and tranquil.

Slowly, not wanting to chance waking him - for although Wolfram usually slept heavier than anyone he'd ever met, there were also times when the lightest of movements could jar him and have him completely awake in a matter of seconds - Yuuri lifted his hand to lightly brush it through his hair, watching the way it slipped through the strands, before taking his index finger and curling a lock around it. He smiled softly, releasing a contented sigh and again forgetting all of his troubles, focusing instead on more important matters, such as the boy he suddenly found himself so entranced by.

He watched him as he breathed, moving his hand again to stroke his cheek, trailing a finger down his nose, caressing his thumb over his slightly parted lips, smiling a little wider as he wiped a small trail of drool off of the slighter young man's chin. He allowed himself more than a few moments to bask in the feeling of having Wolfram close to him, loving the fact that he could feel his heart beating, using his arm to pull him just a little closer, wanting to lose sight of all else and simply drown in his warmth. This was what he wanted, he could admit to himself now, to be close like this, to take care of and protect Wolfram just as Wolfram did the same for him.

"He hasn't been getting much sleep as of late," a familiar voice to his right caught his attention, causing him to jump lightly in surprise at the suddenness of it. He turned his head enough to see who it was, only to catch sight of two figures standing by the door. One, his brown haired guardian, smiling warmly; the other, the Great Sage, whose presence was not nearly as foreboding as it had been the last time he remembered him coming into his room, his black haired friend's gaze less serious, seeming more amused now than anything else.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Conrad spoke again when he noticed that his unannounced presence had surprised the younger half human, his smile widening slightly as his hazel eyes twinkled. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's fine," Yuuri shook his head, carefully - and with a bit of disappointment - moving Wolfram off of him so that he was able to sit up, placing the blond next to him on the mattress, watching as the movement seemed to rouse Wolfram a bit. But when he brushed a calming hand through his hair again the prince nuzzled the side of his face into one of the pillows and easily drifted back off, much to Yuuri's relief. If what Conrad had said was true, then he didn't want to have to wake him up unless it was absolutely necessary.

Satisfied that Wolfram was comfortable, and that it didn't seem as if he'd disturbed his slumber, Yuuri sat and leaned back against another one of the large pillows, turning a bit to glance at the two by the door. "Is something wrong?" he asked, though he didn't think so, not with the way they were currently looking at them, but he could never be too sure. Conrad usually tried not to disturb him if he could help it, and he and Murata hadn't talked much at all since their disagreement.

It was Conrad's turn to shake his head this time. "No, Your Majesty. I was merely concerned and wanted to make sure that you were feeling alright." He didn't say it, but Yuuri knew the brunet had become more that a little wary after what had happened yesterday, and he really couldn't blame the man.

"I'm okay," he reassured him with a light smile, for although there were a few things still bothering him - the war, as well as the prisoners he'd confronted yesterday - he felt calmer and more levelheaded than he had before. Perhaps his outburst yesterday had helped to release some of the stress that had been building within him for so long.

Not wanting to think of the event any longer, even if it may have proven the slightest bit helpful in the end, Yuuri turned once again to glance at Wolfram, not at all surprised to find his hand absently stroking at his hair. He sighed a second time, amazed at how comfortable he'd become with touching Wolfram like this in such a short period of time, for although petting his hair wasn't exactly a monumental step in striving to build a relationship with him, it was more than he would have been willing to commit to before.

"He seems more at ease since you've returned," Conrad observed, and Yuuri had to agree. No doubt the blond had felt a great deal of sadness and stress after their argument, but in the hours that had passed after they'd managed to talk and come to an understanding, the young demon prince had calmed considerably. "He wasn't exactly cooperative in the time that you were on Earth. Gisela attempted to give him an herbal mixture to help him sleep, but he refused to drink it. I don't believe he's slept for more than a few hours since…"

Even though Conrad didn't finish his thought out loud, Yuuri knew what he'd meant to say, and it made him feel horrible that he hadn't been here. If he hadn't been such a coward, so consumed by his doubts and fears that he'd allowed them to drive him away from the place where he was needed, maybe he could have done something to stop those men, maybe he could have somehow protected Wolfram and prevented him from having to feel such fear. He knew Wolfram would probably never admit it, but he'd been able to see it in his eyes as they'd been talking, and again as Conrad had lead them down to the dungeon. Conrad's revelation of his unwillingness to sleep was just further proof Wolfram's distress.

Of course, thinking about the brunet's words, he had to wonder why Wolfram allowed himself to sleep now, to return to the vulnerability that he no doubt thought had been the cause of his unawareness, allowing the two human men to catch him off guard. Did Wolfram honestly feel safe with him, like he'd said the night he'd fled after they'd kissed? Was it really, truly enough for him to feel comfortable sleeping in their bedroom, allowing himself the rest he'd forsaken while he'd been away?

"Conrad," he began questioningly, speaking to his mentor, though not taking his eyes off of the boy next to him, "do you think that… Wolfram and I…" and he trailed off, not really knowing what it was he'd wanted to ask in the first place, though he knew he desired his guardian's reassurance. Shori had pretty much told him that this - trying as he was now - was the right thing to do, but he felt that hearing it from Conrad would make it seem more true. Conrad was Wolfram's brother, after all, and if he was going to do anything, then he felt that receiving some sort of blessing beforehand would be best. It would, without a doubt, make him feel more confident in his decision.

"I believe that you need each other," the half human captain spoke to him rationally, and though Yuuri wasn't currently looking at him, he could hear the smile in his voice. "And there isn't anyone I trust more to take care of him."

That simple statement was enough to have Yuuri breaking his attention away from the blond again, turning his head back to the right to glance at the man who'd given him his name. Conrad could have worded that a different way - he could have said what Yuuri knew he felt and thought, that there wasn't anyone he trusted more than Wolfram to take care of the king - but he hadn't, and the nineteen year old knew he'd done so for a reason. At the moment, it wasn't about Wolfram's abilities to give protection and show a certain level of caring, it was about Yuuri doing the same, and feeling comfortable and confident in what he was doing.

Conrad couldn't have said anything more reassuring.

"Thanks," Yuuri said with a small smile, truly appreciating his words, and taking them to heart. He knew he could trust them. Conrad may have given most of his attention to him over the last four years, but it was easy to see how much he still cared about his youngest brother.

"You're welcome," Conrad smiled in return, giving him a shallow nod before turning to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Majesty, there are a few things that require my attention, and I do believe it would be for the best if you were to get some more sleep."

Yuuri nodded back to him, agreeing wholeheartedly, watching his brown haired guardian as he turned and left. His attention strayed to Murata next, who hadn't spoken a single word since Yuuri had awakened, and whose presence served to both confuse him, and give him hope. If there was one thing that had bothered him more than the problems he'd been having with his feelings for Wolfram, it was the animosity that had erupted between he and two of his advisers and friends, issues that he was intent on resolving as soon as he was given the chance.

"Murata, I want to -" he started to apologize for the things he'd said and the way he'd acted, but was immediately cut off as the other double black slowly shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," the great sage told him, giving him a warm, friendly smile unlike the serious frowns he'd been sporting recently. "You don't have anything to apologize for. You were only doing what you thought was best. Von Bielefeld was right; we can't fault you for that."

"But…" Even if he said that, he still didn't think he'd treated either he or Gwendal fairly. If he could go back and relive that night, he would have made sure the whole confrontation had gone much differently.

"It's fine," Murata continued to assure him, not seeming angered or insulted in the least. It was a change Yuuri didn't quite understand, but one he wouldn't question. He'd rather not continue arguing with one of his closest friends.

"So…" Still, he was unsure. He had a to make sure that things were truly alright, that Murata wasn't just saying all this for his benefit. "We're cool, then?"

"Yeah," his Earthen friend replied, his expression growing even more amused. "We're cool." The sage headed for the door then, seeming intent on following Conrad out of the room. "Rest for a little while longer. You're no good to any one when you're so stressed out. In fact, you're sort of scary." He grinned at his own words, letting Yuuri know that he hadn't really meant them, that he was merely joking around.

Yuuri nodded to him as well, then watched as he left and shut the door, feeling the last bit of his guilt slowly release itself. He laughed lightly, thinking he'd made things harder for himself than they should have been over the last month or two, carefully laying back down against the mattress and rolling onto his side to get a look at the blond boy next to him. Leaning closer, he gently placed a kiss along Wolfram's forehead, then wrapped his arms around him to pull him closer in order to bury his face into his golden curls. He breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent and holding it in for as long as possible, before he released it in another contented sigh.

A bright smile found it's way across his face as he felt Wolfram unconsciously cuddle closer, one that was more reminiscent of the ones he'd shown in his earlier youth, when his duties and his confusion hadn't been nearly as daunting as it had all seemed recently. Now the indecisions he'd faced and the doubts he'd had about himself were beginning to ease, and he felt more able to face the problems that stood before him…

One step at a time…

**TBC...**


	18. Échapper

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by: **Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall): **Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting: **Post-Season Two.

**Rating: **PG-13/T for now.

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait, guys (as always)! I hope to have the next chapter done much sooner than it took for this one, especially since I've been feeling more like working on this lately, but I make no promises!

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Eighteen - Échapper - To Escape**

Stretching and releasing a heavy sigh, Yuuri made his way slowly down the halls of Blood Pledge Castle. He nodded a greeting to a few of the guards along the hallways, and spared a smile toward the maids who passed him carrying a few baskets of laundry. It pleased him to see that although their country was currently in the midst of a crisis, the people working within the palace remained positive and optimistic, seeing to their duties with a different sort of vigor than they'd had before, but retaining their cheer, making their morale appear high and unwavering.

It had been a long week, and most of his time had been spent in his office seeing to the usual stacks of paperwork, with the added responsibility of overseeing the current war. He'd looked over maps of the kingdom many times before when planning travels or the opening of new trade routes, but deciding which areas were in the most need of troops, and which of their villages and borders were the most vulnerable was decidedly more difficult than his previous every day activities. He'd relied on the help of his advisers greatly since his return, unable to make wise, correct decisions without their valuable input.

Only Gwendal remained distant, and had said but a few words since their confrontation on the day of the king's return. Otherwise, the taller dark haired man had kept himself separated from the others, assisting in the organization and deployment of their troops, and meeting with the ambassadors from Cavalcade to ensure that, although some of their other allies had become occupied by their enemies and were therefore of very little help in this battle, they still had their support and assistance.

That was something Yuuri would have liked to do himself, for he enjoyed talking to people far more than looking over maps and trying to remember all of the geography Gunter had taught him, but Gwendal seemed intent on seeing to such things on his own. He was far more adept at the acts of appeasement and persuasion than the king - a soldier and a diplomat above anything else - and Yuuri had to admit it was a little less frustrating not having his Chief of State breathing down his neck at every turn.

The double black had been dismayed to discover how much things had worsened in his absence. Beside the attack that had been conducted upon his family, Cimaron's army had entered through an apparent weakness in their borders, and was now claiming a small portion of the Great Demon Kingdom's land as their own. They'd conducted no attacks so far, not on any of the villages near their encampment, nor on the demon tribe soldiers who'd been sent out to push them back. The two sides remained at a tense stalemate, one that could erupt into complete bedlam at any moment.

It was aggravating work, the kind Yuuri had hoped not to need to deal with - and if he had, he'd rather it not come so soon. He found himself suffering from a great deal of stress because of it, finding that his insomnia was quick to return now that he was no longer in the peaceful environment of his home world. He was happy, however, to note that the anger he'd been consumed with so recently had nearly vanished entirely, making the problems currently set before him much easier to handle. Once he'd confronted the prisoners still confined within the dungeon, his anger had been released and was no longer as uncontrollable and overpowering; he may still feel just the slightest bit guilty for how he'd acted during the interrogation, but it had gone a long way in easing his previously troubled mind.

Things around the palace had become as normal as they possibly could with the war now upon them. He rose early, sometimes before the first rays of the sun peaked over the horizon, to spend some time outside - accompanied by more than a handful of guards - finding that watching the rising sun and breathing in the cool, crisp early morning air drastically improved the state of his mind, clearing it and invigorating him, preparing him for whatever the day should bring. From there he would either complete the routine exercises that had become habit in his earlier adolescence, or retrieve Morgif and practice his swordplay with Conrad. Both were activities he'd neglected to partake in when all of his problems had first arisen, and it helped to return to his old ways.

By the time he made his way back inside, Wolfram was usually just beginning to stir from his sleep, and the two of them would walk the short distance to their private bath, bathe together and then dress before taking breakfast in their room. The meals were most often held in a comfortable silence, with very few words spoken and only small smiles and soft looks exchanged between them. Not much had changed in their relationship, though Yuuri hadn't honestly expected things to become so drastically different right away; he knew for certain that he wasn't ready for any further developments, and after what had happened to Wolfram he doubted the blond would be very comfortable rushing into anything either.

They kissed every so often - nothing serious; they usually weren't more than a short, casual brushing of the lips - at least once a morning when they were both awake, once or twice before bed every evening, where they'd curl up together under the warm blankets of their large bed, and then at various other times throughout the day, depending on what was going on. Usually they kissed for no other reason that to offer comfort, reassurance, and support, the flames of the impassioned embrace they'd shared upon his return now quenched and burning lowly, though Yuuri had to wonder how easily they could be fanned into a brilliant blaze again.

There was no denying the sensations he now felt whenever he was around the other boy; the care and concern, the admiration and adoration, the protectiveness and the longing. It was difficult to go through his days without seeing him at least once - an experience he hadn't had to go through as of late, since Wolfram had taken to accompanying him to his study, helping him with his work and taking some of the burden onto his own shoulders, perhaps because of the responsibility he felt for the war that had been approved by his signature. But during the rare occasion that Wolfram's presence was required elsewhere, Yuuri was hit by a wave of restlessness similar to the feeling that had sparked his return from Earth. Only it was stronger now, more pressing, and it wasn't alleviated until he was able to see the blond again and see for himself that he was truly all right.

With a light smile and a small shake of his head, Yuuri continued making his way down the hallway, heading down the royal wing of the palace as he made his way back to his room. He'd just finished his morning run and a quick spar with Conrad, and despite the swiftly cooling autumn temperatures - which aroused some concern, considering it could possibly be a sign of a harsh winter to come - he was soaked with sweat, his track suit sticking to him uncomfortably in a few places, his hair plastered to his face and neck. Wiping some of his damp bangs off of his forehead, Yuuri flashed a wan smile to the guards stationed by all the doors, earning a set of shallow nods, polite bows, and spirited salutes in return.

He was met by a pair of Gwendal's personal guards at the door to his room, two men he'd grown accustomed to seeing every morning. Gwendal and Conrad had set up the guards in a series of three shifts, and if it wasn't Conrad himself standing at the door to the royal bedchamber - something Yuuri typically admonished him for, feeling that his guardian was taking on too much - then always it was two of Gwendal's men positioned on either side, people his Chief of State was close to - or as close as the man could possibly be to a person - and in whom he placed the highest level of trust. Yuuri had to say he felt remarkably less antsy to have them and the other royal guards close by, not because of any sort of threat he felt against his own well being, but because it made him feel better about leaving his family and friends when he had to see to his duties. If it wasn't for their constant presence, he doubted he'd ever leave either Wolfram or Greta alone.

Taking hold of the door handle, he gave them a smile and an appreciative nod in thanks for their services, receiving nods in return before he was opening and door and entering his room, shutting it behind him. It was somewhat ironic, he thought, to be pleased with the extra protection when he'd hardly desired it before, caring more for his personal privacy than anything else. The attack against his family had thrown into sharp realization that which was most important, and he felt like a fool for wasting time being concerned with petty things when his interest should have been focused elsewhere from the start.

Shaking his head as a way to force such thoughts out of his mind - wanting to retain his current mood and not allow certain other emotions to get the better of him - Yuuri stepped further into the room, his attention immediately going to the large canopy bed where, at this time of day, it wasn't uncommon to find Wolfram still sleeping. Indeed the blond was still in bed, lying on his side facing the door, curled up into a tight ball with the blankets brought up to his chin to ward off the slight chill in the room. Instead of being alone, however, as he normally was when Yuuri returned from his activities outside - which always made him feel a little uneasy, though he was reassured by the guards at the door - Greta lay beside him, already dressed for the day in one of her pretty dresses, her long brown hair curled elegantly, some of it pulled back by a lavender silk ribbon.

Yuuri's smile softened and became more genuine as he saw her there, watching as she slowly sat up and turned to face him when she heard him enter and begin to approach. She smiled back at him, and though it wasn't as bright as it used to be, it made him feel better to see her safe and happy. She hadn't spoken to him about the night of the attack - though others had told him what she'd recounted on previous occasions - and he honestly had no intention of ever making her. She had already begun to heal and put it behind her, and Yuuri didn't want to do or say anything to bring the memories back, secretly marveling over her strength and courage instead of vocalizing his pride.

"Good morning," his adopted daughter greeted him softly, keeping her voice low so as to not awaken her blond haired father.

"Good morning, Greta," he replied, moving to sit down near her on the edge of the bed. He gave her a curious look, wondering what she was doing in here and if something was wrong. As she'd gotten older, the time she spent in his and Wolfram's room had decreased noticeably, until it had gotten to the point where she only came if she had something important to discuss with either of them or if something was bothering her. Otherwise she focused on her studies, or hung around with Anissina, Gwendal, the maids, or her grandmother. "Is something wrong?"

Though he hadn't wanted to give into his guilt, he couldn't help it when seeing her now. He loved Greta deeply, cherished her, cared for her, and took pride in her accomplishments, but he would admit that he'd never been a very good father to her. Part of that could be blamed on his duties as king, his busy schedule and the traveling he'd had to do over the years - especially during the times he'd still been in school on Earth - but it could also be blamed on how young he'd been when he'd first adopted her, a child who was only five years his junior. Truthfully, he hadn't been ready to be a father - and he still didn't think that was a task he could tackle successfully - though he'd cared for her and had wanted to do whatever he could to make life easier for her.

Over the years, he'd come to realize how lucky he'd been to have Wolfram's support in raising her. It had been Wolfram who'd read her stories, Wolfram who'd bought her toys and clothes, and Wolfram who'd comforted her after bad dreams, both when Yuuri himself was there as well as when he was absent. There was a connection between his husband and Greta that he'd never been able to form with the girl, one he knew had been forged between them during all the times he'd been away, leaving them to depend on one another. That was something he'd like to rectify, one of the things he was intent on changing, though he knew it would take time and more effort than what he was presently putting into it.

"No," the brunette replied to his question with a small smile and a light shake of her head. "The two of you have just been busy, and I… I wanted to see you…"

The guilty feeling only increased when she said that, his smile faltering a little as he gave her a sad look. "I'm sorry, Greta. I never meant to make you feel-"

She interrupted him with another shake of her head, quicker this time, obviously noting his remorse. "It's fine; I know you have a lot of things to do." Never had she been resentful of that, more accepting than she probably should have been that her father's attention was nearly always focused elsewhere. "I just…" she paused, lowering her eyes, appearing a little awkward. "I wanted to make sure that things were okay. I mean… with Wolfram…"

He forced another smile, though his heart hurt at seeing how much she cared for the blond, knowing that the problems that had previously existed between them had affected her, too, in some small way. "Greta, you shouldn't worry about that. Wolfram and I…" he trailed off for a moment, trying to decide what he wanted to tell her. "We're trying to work things out. But we're fine now," he quickly added, not wanting her to think there were still problems that existed between them. "I'm not running away anymore…"

Greta nodded in understanding, turning a bit to stare at Wolfram for a long, silent moment before she was facing Yuuri again. "Will you come eat breakfast in the dining room this morning?"

It was an odd question, and for a second he was unsure how to answer it, but upon remembering that he and Wolfram had been eating in their room instead of joining the others for the daily meals, he realized they'd been unintentionally alienating her, and the level of his guilt rose dramatically. He forced his smile to remain in place, and nodded; this was probably the most Greta would ever do in requesting more attention for herself, and he didn't have any choice but to grant it. "Sure," he replied, lifting a hand to tuck a stray curl behind one of her ears. "We'll be there in a little while. Let me get Wolfram up and wash up a bit first, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, bobbing her head once in approval, before she was sliding off of the bed and standing to her feet, smoothing and straightening the skirts of her dress. "Then I'll see you in a bit," the brown haired girl added, heading towards the door to make her exit. She stopped before opening it, however, tensing for a second before slowly turning to look back at her adopted father. "Yuuri?" she called his name, as if trying to gain his attention, though she'd had it the entire time.

"Yeah?" he inquired, lifting an eyebrow in curiosity, facing her and patiently waiting for her to say whatever it was that had suddenly crossed her mind. The expression on her face was soft, open and vulnerable, her brown gaze tender and warm.

"I love you," she said, so simply and without warning that he was momentarily silenced.

Greta had expressed her feelings and appreciation for him many times since he'd first gained her trust, and they'd exchanged quite a few hugs and affectionate words when she'd been younger. Once or twice she'd even called him 'Papa,' but the word had never stuck, never found it's way into their everyday conversations; it was almost as if she'd been experimenting with it, testing its sound and his reaction to it, and while it had caused a certain amount of pride to well up in him, he would admit it felt and sounded a bit strange to hear himself being referred to in such a way by someone who was only a handful of years younger than himself. Perhaps Greta had noticed this, or perhaps she'd made the decision to call him by his name on her own.

Either way, the 'I love you's weren't a rare occurrence; she said it every once in a while, though usually only when she felt he needed to hear it, and while he could certainly use as much love and support as his family was willing to give him right now, the sound of her voice was different than it sounded on a normal occasion. It was almost as if she were saying it this time to reassure herself.

"I love you, too, Greta," he was able to say after the surprise of her sudden declaration had worn off, continuing to smile at her as he remained in his place along the edge of the bed. He said it without hesitation, for although he'd been momentarily stunned by the suddenness of her comment, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he shared and returned her affection.

His adopted daughter smiled brighter, a smile filled with happiness and cheer, before she was turning back to the door to exit the room, shutting it quietly behind her and disappearing from sight.

Yuuri stared at the door for a long moment, before taking a deep breath and letting out a heavy sigh. He worried about Greta - the same as he worried about everything and everyone else - and it was only upon seeing her that he realized that, for the most part, he had no need to worry. She was not a lost and lonely little girl anymore, but a strong and independent young woman, and though she'd been frightened and perhaps still suffered from the attack against her and Wolfram, her resilience remained strong. It was comforting to know that she would be all right, and her strength and perseverance brought him a great amount of pride.

Shaking his head lightly, a small smile still present upon his face, Yuuri turned to glance at the figure on the bed again, moving a little closer to him on the large mattress and reaching out a hand to gently stroke the side of his face, brushing some of Wolfram's blond hair back, letting his fingers slide through the strands as he did so. He was relieved to see him sleeping so soundly, hoping that it meant that the emotional and psychological wounds that he'd been carrying around were fading along with the bruises. He didn't expect him to have recovered completely, but at least he was getting some rest, and not forcing himself to remain awake, as Yuuri had heard he'd been doing before he'd come back.

It hurt him to do so, especially seeing Wolfram so at ease, but after a few moments of staring he began to try and wake him up. "Wolfram…" he softly called his name, not wanting to startle him into wakefulness, but knowing that the blond was going to have to get up soon if they were to bathe and make it to the dining room for breakfast in a decent amount of time.

Wolfram didn't move at all, or show any sign that he'd even heard the soft whisper of his name.

Yuuri tried again, continuing to play his fingers over his face, tenderly stroking his cheeks and caressing his slightly parted lips with his thumb. "Wolfram…" He moved closer to him, leaning over to whispering into his ear, "Hey, come on… It's time to wake up…"

The blond groaned then, beginning to stir, his eyelids fluttering until finally his eyes slipped open, blinking sleepily a few times before he let out a huge yawn.

Yuuri laughed lightly at that, then sat by patiently, waiting for him to wake up completely. Wolfram took a lot longer to actually awaken than he did. Whereas he could easily roll out of bed and energetically start a new day, Wolfram needed a little extra time to get his wits about him, or else he'd be stumbling on his feet when he climbed out. Yuuri was more than happy to allow him those few extra moments, brushing a hand through his hair comfortingly and watching as he slowly came to consciousness.

"Hey," he greeted the blond when it finally seemed as if he was awake and aware, smiling down at him softly. "Good morning…"

"G'morning…" Wolfram replied groggily, in a voice still heavy with sleep, green eyes blinking wearily, his movements sluggish.

Yuuri merely continued to smile at him, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before gently brushing their lips together. "Come on, it's bath time," he softly told him once they'd parted, and he was pulling back to look down at him once again. He was amused by the blond's annoyed groan and didn't let his reluctance to get up thwart him in his plans to be at breakfast. "You can go to bed early tonight if you're so tired, but you're going to be mad at yourself if you end up sleeping all day."

"No, I won't," the other young man replied, giving him a little glare and turning onto his other side to show him his back, shoving his face into the pillow.

"Yes, you will." As much as Wolfram loved to sleep, and as much as he lazed in bed longer than Yuuri himself, the nineteen-year-old knew that it annoyed Wolfram to sleep the whole day away, especially when there were things to be done. "Get up; that's an order."

He'd said it playfully, and he knew that Wolfram knew he wasn't serious, but it had the blond pushing himself up into a seated position regardless. The glare was still on his face, though now it looked more like a pout, and he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes in a matter of seconds, then sliding off the side of the bed and heading to the closet to fetch himself some clothes, grumbling under his breath the whole way.

Yuuri followed him, grabbing one of his uniforms and a change of underwear, hooking two of his fingers on one hand into a pair of shoes to be able to carry them with him, intent on heading to the dining room as soon as they were done with their bath. Wolfram, seeing him do so and obviously realizing his intentions grabbed some shoes for himself as well, and then they were making their way out of their room, down the hall, and into the Demon King's private bath.

It took next to no time at all to wash up, though once the soap suds had been rinsed away and he'd washed the shampoo from his hair, effectively removing all the dirt and sweat he'd gained during his morning workout, Yuuri took a few moments to relax. He moved to the side of the bath, lowering himself in the water a bit more as he leaned back against the side, resting his arms along the tiled ledge behind him to keep himself upright. At first he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of heated liquid pouring from the figures of lion heads that brought the water into the bath. It was nice to just take some time to center himself, though after a while he grew tired of simply sitting there, and he opened his eyes again to seek out his bath partner.

Wolfram bathed much more slowly than he did, methodically, and he gained a far-away look on his face that made him appear to be deep in thought, though it was impossible to tell whether he was truly thinking or if he'd merely gone blank. Yuuri had never put much time into observing Wolfram as he went about his daily routine, but he realized he'd been doing so a lot lately, finding that his eyes would always rest on his form whenever they were in the same room. They came to settle on his figure this time as well, staring at him, his gaze a bit hazy and unfocused through the steam in the room, before it sharpened more and he was looking him over with purpose.

The bruises he'd suffered during his ordeal the night of the attack had faded, much to his relief. There was still a faint mark along his shoulder from where he'd been bitten, but luckily it was hardly noticeable unless one were to purposely look for it. Considering Wolfram hardly ever left the room without being fully dressed and covered from head to toe - even in the middle of a blazing summer - there would be very little chance that anyone else would ever be able to see it.

He knew - after watching his friend in moments like these over the last couple of weeks or so - exactly how he would go about washing himself. He started low before working his way up, running the bar of soap over smooth, white skin slowly turning pink from the heat of the water. He soaped his chest, then his shoulders, neck, and arms, ducking under the water a bit to allow the suds to be washed away, before attempting, as he always did, to wash his back himself.

He succeeded for the most part, but the movements and effort seemed awkward - as he imagined it did for most people, even for someone as naturally graceful as Wolfram. Still, even as he struggled to clean the smooth plain of his back, the far-away expression remained.

Yuuri found himself smiling softly as he lounged against the side of the bath, allowing himself a moment of contemplation, before pushing himself off of the tile and wading through the water, coming up behind his unsuspecting friend to gently remove the soap from his grasp. When Wolfram jumped, startled, he immediately felt guilty for having not announced his intentions, though he was quick to grab onto the other young man's shoulders in a gesture he hoped was more comforting than restraining. Wolfram stilled for a few short moments, as if he wasn't sure what to do, before slowly relaxing, letting out the softest of sighs.

"Sorry," Yuuri made sure to apologize, knowing that Wolfram had been a bit more jumpy than usual after what had almost happened to him - _'what _had_ happened to him,'_ he reminded himself, for although the attack had not been able to be conducted in its entirety, it had succeeded in instilling a sense of fear and unease into his friend, one that was in no way quick to leave, whether Wolfram wanted to admit to it or not. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought I'd give you a hand."

Green eyes peered up at him curiously as Wolfram glanced over a white shoulder, before he was shaking his head imperceptibly. "You don't have to. I can just as easily do it myself."

Yuuri refrained from pointing out the difference in ease between acquiring help and doing it oneself, or commenting on all the times Wolfram had been adamant about washing _his_ back. Instead he shook his own head in return, though the movement was more pronounced than Wolfram's had been. "I want to."

He waited for some sort of response, but when he received none save for Wolfram's lasting curiosity, he continued with a request. "Please? Let me…"

He knew that Wolfram was unaccustomed to allowing people to do certain things for him, especially when it came to things like this - though he seemed more than able and more than willing to do it for others, or at least to do it for him. Things like cooking and cleaning were easily left up to others; the cooks and maids had jobs to do the same as everyone else, and he'd been raised with this understanding, so this aid in daily activities that Yuuri would find normal went almost unnoticed. But when it came to more private things, like bathing and dressing, Wolfram typically preferred to be left to do them on his own.

Touching, he'd slowly come to realize, especially of the more intimate sort, was not something Wolfram was all that familiar with, and he wouldn't be surprised should he become unsettled by it. He wasn't exactly used to it himself, so for the most part he understood, but Wolfram had always been a much more guarded individual than he was, and so he had a feeling that Wolfram's hesitation in such matters would show through more as their relationship continued to build.

He knew not to be insulted by it; it was just the way Wolfram had been brought up. Yuuri had long come to notice the lack of physical contact between Wolfram and his family. Besides Lady Celi - and Greta, in more recent years - he couldn't recall having seen anyone else embrace his friend in any fashion. Not even Elizabeth, who'd been his friend since childhood - not even Gwendal or Conrad.

It was no wonder he was so starved for attention when the people who should be giving it to him were so distant, impersonal and reserved. What's more, he often didn't know how to accept the care and attention he wanted so badly when it was given to him.

Even now he was looking at him hesitantly, his curiosity eventually giving way to uncertainty, though because he'd been waiting so long for some form of reciprocation from him, Yuuri assumed, he ended up nodding his head to allow the assistance. He turned his head back around once he had, breaking their gaze and effectively making it more difficult for Yuuri to view his subsequent expressions.

He chose not to mention Wolfram's unease, knowing his observations would quickly be denied, and instead focused on his current task. He ran the bar of soap over Wolfram's lower back, then slowly made his way up to his shoulders, not allowing his hands to linger lest he make Wolfram even more uncomfortable with the situation. Done with the soap, he set it aside while Wolfram dipped under a bit to once again wash the suds off, grabbing onto the shampoo while Wolfram was otherwise distracted.

When the blond noticed what he intended to do, he shook his head a second time. "I can wash my hair myself."

Yuuri gave him a little smile, pouring some of the shampoo into his hand before putting the container back into its proper place. "I want to." He approached Wolfram before he could make any other sort of protest, sinking his hands into his golden hair and working the shampoo into it.

He'd grown to like Wolfram's hair, though he had to wonder if that was only because it was so different than what he was used to seeing back home. Unless he saw a foreigner, usually the only people he saw with blond hair were those who'd bleached and dyed it. Having colored hair had grown to be a fad, one that he'd never gotten into - though he'd used some dyes here while traveling in disguise. Wolfram's natural blond hair was much more fascinating to him, soft and wavy, a few locks always twisting into curls no matter how he tried to brush them out. He had to wonder how it would look if he grew it out more, if it would continue to wave or if it would only grow more curly.

Moreover, he knew that if Wolfram ever admitted to liking one of his features more than any other, it would be his hair. The way he brushed it so carefully, the way he slipped his hands through it, the way he examined it in the mirror whenever he got dressed for the day or changed for bed, all gave away attachment to it. If something were to ever happen to ruin it, he thought Wolfram would be devastated.

And so he was careful with it, not quickly scrubbing like he always did with his own, but working his hands and fingers through the mass of gold as gently as he possibly could. He made sure each inch was washed and covered, all the while taking care that none of the shampoo dripped into his friend's eyes. For a little while after he'd finished working the suds in, he lightly massaged Wolfram's scalp with his fingers, trying to get him to relax. It helped a bit, though not by much, and he soon stopped to push at Wolfram's shoulder to have him ducking under the water to rinse his hair out.

Wolfram's back was still turned towards him when he arose again, and he took advantage of that fact and placed his hands onto his shoulders again, kneading at the tense muscles beneath the soft, damp flesh. His husband - and he was still trying to get used to using that word in referring to him - glanced at him once again, his full lips lowered into the smallest of frowns and his eyebrows furrowed a bit, as if he couldn't understand why he was bothering to do something like that.

Yuuri offered him another smile and opened his mouth to speak again. "What were you thinking about earlier, when you were washing yourself?" he asked, hoping some conversation might put Wolfram more at ease.

He didn't respond at first, and shrugged against the fingers pressing into his shoulders, and Yuuri couldn't tell if he wanted him to stop or not. Finally Wolfram spoke, his usually loud voice coming out unnaturally soft. "Just… things…" he said, sounding strangely unsure of himself. He'd been sounding like that a lot lately; it was frightening the way Wolfram had been reduced to such a weak and distrustful state so easily, and Yuuri had no clue what to do to bring his confidence back.

"What kinds of things?" he patiently tried. Talking usually made him feel better, and though he knew Wolfram wasn't at all like him in that respect, he thought he'd be able to help more the more he knew.

He was prepared to have to wrestle it out of him, or be disappointed by Wolfram's lack of a reply, but his friend surprised him by being a little more open than he normally was. "Everything," he answered, turning his head back to face ahead of him so that Yuuri was once again prevented from seeing his face. "The war… you… our relationship…"

Yuuri sighed at that, not wanting to sound too frustrated, but also not wanting Wolfram to dwell on too many things when he should be focusing more on himself. "I've told you before that the war isn't your fault, so please stop worrying about it. I know you feel responsible, and that's okay… but I don't want you beating yourself up over it. I don't like it, but I know now that it was going to happen at some point. It's better that it's happened now when we have a better chance of fixing things, instead of later when it might have been too late. I'm not mad at you…"

Wolfram nodded, beginning to relax somewhat, but only a little - not as much as Yuuri would like him to.

"And I'm fine," he continued, moving his hands from his shoulders a little lower down his back. "I know I've seemed a bit out of it lately, especially before, and I know I've probably been worrying you, but I'm fine now. I feel good, I feel as unstressed as I'm going to be under the circumstances, so you don't have to keep waiting for me to fly off the handle again. I've got better control over myself now."

Again, Wolfram nodded, but said not a thing to let him know that he was listening or that he understood.

"As for you an me," Yuuri said, trying not to let Wolfram's silence get to him, and still wanting to reassure him, even if it didn't seem to be working all that much. "We don't have to rush into anything. I'm not ready for it, you're not ready for it. I know that. Things aren't going to change so much so soon. We can take our time. We can work into it and make sure that we're both comfortable with how things are going. I've never done this before, and I don't really know if you have or… or if you haven't either…" He paused, waiting for some sort of confirmation, though he wasn't surprised or disappointed when it didn't come. "We're in this together, either way. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to; you know that. And I know that… that it's the same for you, that you won't do anything I don't want you to…"

He frowned a bit as he rambled and Wolfram said not a word, eventually taking hold of one of his arms to gently turn him around, wanting to be able to look at him to make sure that he was really okay. He looked down at him as Wolfram looked up, and though he was relieved to see that he didn't look upset at all, he was still worried about him. It wasn't like Wolfram to be so quiet all the time - or at all, really. It was unsettling, even if he could understand it to a certain extent. Wolfram was still recovering; he should expect him to not quite be himself.

And it wasn't like he'd changed completely. He still had moments where he was the same Wolfram he'd always known, when he was loud and brash and arrogant, when he was sure of himself, when he was foreword in his words and actions, and when he stood proudly, courageously, as if no one or nothing could ever bring him down.

But then there were also times when that side of him that he knew all too well was wiped away, and the Wolfram that was left was much quieter and more subdued than the one he'd grown used to over the last four years. In those instances, Wolfram would look sad and alone, even when he was around other people; he would look tired and defeated, beaten down and weary, like he could hardly handle more than he'd already been through. It was times like those when Yuuri most wanted to take him into his arms and hold him, comfort him and let him know that everything would be okay, and help him get his strength back in whatever way he could.

Wolfram was looking like that now, and it almost broke his heart. He tried to smile, if only to silently reassure him, but he didn't know how well he was able to accomplish that. Tenderly he moved his hand to Wolfram's cheek, then raised it to his forehead, pushing his damp bangs out of the way as he met his eyes. He stepped closer to him, wanting to say a hundred and one things at that moment - how he cared about him, how he'd be there for him whenever he needed him, how he wanted to hold him and take care of him and help him - but none of it came out.

"Tell me what you're thinking now," he said instead, more a demand than a question, though he made sure to keep his voice light and unthreatening, not wanting to force anything onto him or cause him to become defensive in any way. The more defensive he felt, the more closed off he became; Yuuri wanted him to be more open, with him if not with anyone else.

"I'm thinking…" Wolfram began but soon trailed off, lowering his gaze for a few moments as he seemed to once again fall into deep thought, though thankfully he was raising his eyes again not too long after he'd shifted them away. "I… I love you…"

His voice sounded so lost, so unsure, and yet so full of need that Yuuri had no choice but to pull him close, chest to chest, lifting a hand to Wolfram's hair to have him lay his head along his shoulder. He knew that he'd made it difficult over the years for Wolfram to say things like that. He'd never said it very often before, only when he thought that Yuuri needed to hear it, and the dark haired young man knew that the more put off he'd seemed, the more reluctant Wolfram had grown to express his feelings. He couldn't say he blamed him; he thought he would have reacted the same way if he'd been in Wolfram's shoes.

He'd heard him say it a lot lately, or at least in the past couple of months. Sometimes it had been said with raised voice, as Wolfram had thrown the words at him like they were an accusation. Sometimes it had been said in comfort, as they stood before one another or sat in bed together and Wolfram had his arms around him, showering him with more care and support than he thought he deserved after all he'd put him through. And then sometimes it was said in the manner in which he'd just voiced it - helplessly, like he knew it didn't matter, when Yuuri still didn't return the feelings he had for him.

He hated hearing it when it was said like that. He knew there was so much more that Wolfram wanted from him that he wasn't willing to give - that he didn't know if he'd ever be able to give - and he hated knowing how much pain that caused him, especially when they'd grown so close recently, and Wolfram's pain had quickly become _his_ pain. They were more emotionally connected now than they'd ever been before, and it hurt him just as much as it hurt Wolfram that he couldn't say those three words in return. He wanted to, but he knew he couldn't say them without being one hundred percent sure that he meant them. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he didn't.

It was strange how easy it was for him to return a sentiment like that when it was someone like Greta voicing it. There was no question about how he felt for her, the love that filled his heart every time he saw her. But with Wolfram it had always been so much more confusing, partly because he hadn't wanted to admit to himself that he may feel something for him, that he might be attracted to him on some level, and partly because the love he felt for Greta and the love Wolfram wanted from him were so different.

Wolfram wasn't some child to take care of, someone for him to watch grow into adulthood, someone who needed him as a parent. Wolfram was a young man in search of a partner for life, someone to settle down with, someone to grow old with. Wolfram was looking for a lover, a husband, not someone to fill the empty space left vacant by his father.

Yuuri's hold on him tightened after only a little while, one arm around his waist while the other remained raised slightly to keep his hand in his hair, massaging his scalp again. Wolfram leaned against him, tense still for a few more moments, before relaxing and nearly collapsing into him, keeping his head along his shoulder, his arms slipping around his torso to link behind his back.

"I love you," the three words were repeated, a little more forcefully, but with just as much helplessness held within them.

"I know," Yuuri responded, turning his head a bit to be able to whisper into his ear, even if there was no one else around to hear their conversation. It was the most he could say in response at the current time. He didn't want to remain silent and make Wolfram think he didn't care how he felt, but he didn't want to start spouting off falsities either. So he kept his reply simple, so that Wolfram would be aware that he knew the extent of his feelings, and that he accepted them now when he hadn't before. "I know, Wolf."

He placed a kiss against his hair, moving his lips to his shoulder to place a kiss there as well, running his free hand from its place by his waist up and down his back, slowly and comfortingly, holding onto his friend and letting Wolfram hold onto him in return for as long as he needed. The blond remained motionless at first, but soon returned Yuuri caresses with a kiss against the side of his neck, turning his head to be able to nuzzle his face against it, letting out a deep breath against his skin.

Yuuri allowed him to pull away once he was ready, putting another smile onto his face for Wolfram's benefit, brushing at his hair some more as he looked into his eyes, before leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips. Wolfram pressed into it lightly, a bit more restrained and reserved that he'd been when he'd kissed him for the first time after returning from Earth. But the light contact was enough for the both of them for now, and so they refrained from deepening it any more, choosing instead to keep it chaste, a silent agreement made between the both of them.

The young king slid his fingers out of his friend's hair once the kiss ended, lowering it to grab onto one of Wolfram's hands, linking their fingers together and giving the appendage a light tug. "We should be getting out now. We need to get dressed and head to breakfast."

Wolfram nodded, still a bit subdued, but his eyes were a bit brighter and the tension that had previously encompassed his frame had all but gone away. When Yuuri gave his hand another gentle tug, he followed, moving with him to the side of the bath to step up and out, warm water sliding from their skins to drip onto the floor. Yuuri handed him a plush towel before taking one for himself, releasing his hand only as they dried off and began to dress.

As was the case when he bathed, it didn't take long for Yuuri to slip his clothes on. He tied his royal undergarments in place, then pulled his black pants up his legs, slipping his white shirt on and tucking it in before closing the fastenings. Last was his black jacket, his socks, and then his shoes, which he shoved his feet into and tied loosely.

Wolfram was once again slower, partly because he was just naturally slower at these things than Yuuri, taking his time to make sure he looked presentable and that there was not a wrinkle in sight, and partly because he typically wore more clothing. Yuuri stood by to watch him once he was done dressing himself, though he made sure his gaze was not too intent lest he cause his friend to become unsettled and defensive again.

He put on his underwear first, no different than Yuuri did, though he tied it in place more securely, like he expected someone would come by and try to tug it off. Then he slipped a pair of white stockings up his legs, choosing to sit himself in a rather plain looking chair nearby instead of on the wet floor or risk hopping on one leg at a time and potentially losing his balance, standing again only when he was finished. Next came his white undershirt, with its high collar and ruffled sleeves, then his black pants which today fell only to his knees.

He pulled a black jacket on as well, more embellished than Yuuri's own, though it suited the blond better than Yuuri thought it would suit himself. The lining was white, matching the white lace of his under-sleeves that peeked out from beneath the cusps, and the white lace cravat he fastened at his throat with a black jeweled broach. Last came black shoes, simpler than his usual boots, but with a slight heel, the entire outfit reminding Yuuri of clothing worn on Earth in years long passed.

There was a brush nearby, resting on a small vanity in the area that they'd changed in, and Yuuri took it to quickly run it through his hair, before handing it to Wolfram so that he could do the same. He waited, as patiently as he'd been waiting all along, smiling at the sight of the curls that took shape as the blond hair began to dry. It seemed impossible to force his hair into any other state, and Wolfram eventually gave up when he realized the futility in continuing to run the brush through it. It looked better than he probably thought it did, at least in Yuuri's opinion. He didn't really understand Wolfram's compulsion to make it as perfect as possible, but he didn't comment on it, indulging him instead.

Once they were both done, he took his husband's hand again, giving it a gentle yet comforting squeeze. It had Wolfram gazing up at him, to which he smiled softly and led him to the door of the bath, opening it for him so that he could cross into the hall, before joining him. Slowly they made their way to the dining room, walking together down the halls, hand-in-hand at first, heedless of the guards who saw the intimate action. It was a common enough occurrence nowadays, so Yuuri doubted it inspired much surprise.

Not long into their journey, however, he released Wolfram's hand, smiling again at the curious look he was given, before moving his arm behind Wolfram's waist, and placing a hand against the small of his back to guide him along.

Wolfram hesitated for only a moment, before smiling that small little smile Yuuri wanted so much to see adorning his face, benign and peaceful, free of stress and worry, lighting his eyes in a way that Yuuri knew only he could accomplish.

* * *

They'd been in the dungeon for three weeks, at least as far as Ilyich could tell. It was often difficult to keep track of time with no widows to provide him with a look on the outside world and, more importantly, the changing levels of the sun. He was left to rely on his visits with the Demon King's advisers, and the rate of the meals that came each day. He'd kept a steady count of them, though he allowed some room for error, and he could guess from the numbers that after twenty-one more meals, they'd have been in the cell for an entire month.

But he didn't plan on being down here that long. His continued imprisonment had not been part of the original plan, and as far as he knew everything was still running accordingly. Of course, he couldn't say for certain when he had very little contact with people aside from the guards who kept watch on them and the older brothers of the king's pretty whore, but he was confident that he was important enough to his master that his time in captivity would end soon, and that the plan would continue to be executed as it had first been devised.

Frideric sat in the corner of the cell, not as beaten as Ilyich himself after the many inquisitions they'd been made victim of, but looking far more weary. In all honesty, he was surprised the old man had lasted this long, and that he hadn't cracked under the steadily worsening conditions imposed on them by the king's retainers, and revealed their plan and their intentions to those who seemed close to implementing harsher tortures in order to extract the information out of them.

His partner in his crimes had been useless at best, and it was because of he and his inability to restrain the princess that had led to their being captured sooner than expected. Ilyich had wanted more time with the prince, for his own pleasure if nothing else. The original design had not been to rape, as they'd known there was a risk of being apprehended before he could manage the task. Striking fear into his heart and delivering the slap to his face had been all his master had required, though he wouldn't have been against having the blond roughed up more, if only to see what His Majesty the Demon King would do.

His reaction had been enlightening enough already. After three years of observation, it had become known to them that the young king was rather protective of his friends and those he thought of as his family, but the extent to which he'd felt for the youth he'd married had still been largely up in the air. And so they'd implemented this test to see if using the prince against him would be worth the effort, worth the risk of sneaking into the castle and putting themselves in so much danger.

So far they'd yet to be disappointed. If the boy's reaction when he'd come to question them had been any indication of his true feelings, then he seemed to care more for the spouse that had been more or less forced onto him than they'd originally thought. There had been an anger in his eyes that had not been expected, at least not to that degree, and a possessiveness that didn't seem at all like the boy they'd been carefully studying for the last few years. The other side of the king, which had once only been released under dire circumstances, was becoming more and more prominent with every year that passed.

Perhaps the boy they'd thought weak and incapable of truly ruling and defending his country against his enemies was more of a man and more of a king than they'd previously thought.

As interesting as the turn of events concerning the king had ended up being, Ilyich could still not force his thoughts to entirely abandon the image of the prince. The blond was nothing more than a scapegoat for the nobles of the country, someone put in place to do the work His Majesty did not feel like dirtying his hands with. Yet his feelings for his sovereign could very easily be used to their advantage if they could only get their hands on him. He was in a vulnerable position, put there by his family and beaten down by someone incapable of returning his love; it was a weakness that, if exposed in the correct way, could aid his master immensely.

Prince Wolfram was an interesting specimen; spirited and fiery, bold and daring, determined and completely capable of defending himself, though at the same time he was lost and in need of protection, a walking contradiction, controlled without difficulty once his weaknesses were taken advantage of. It didn't hurt that he was beautiful, thin and pale and blond, and so ready to be taken. If only he'd had a few more moments with him, he could have tested him out for himself and made him useful instead of always in want of the king.

One day, perhaps, he'd have that chance again, but for now there were more important things to be seeing to.

He noticed the way Frideric jumped at the disruption of the quiet that usually blanketed the dungeon in silence, but he was not surprised by the sudden change himself. He leaned back against the wall, tilting his head to rest it against the cold stones, patiently waiting while the man who had done nothing more than burden his mission looked around cautiously, immediately on the defensive. The older man tensed and tried to further melt into the corner, as if it could protect him from any further harm.

Ilyich listened to a gasp of surprise from one guard, and then a shout that almost made its way out of another before being effectively silenced, a loud 'thump' echoing down the hall of the dungeon as a heavy body - weighed down by armor - was left to fall to the ground. Seconds later, torchlight appeared before the bars of the cell, the burning wood held by a man wearing the uniform of one of the Great Demon Kingdom's regular soldiers, but a gleaming stone peeking out from his breast plate proved him to be no demon.

The man held a knife in his other hand, red and wet with blood, with a standard issue sword hanging sheathed by his side. Another man joined him in front of the cell, his eyes darting around the dank corridor, checking for any other form of opposition.

"Sir," the man with the torch and dagger greeted him, inclining his head slightly as he did so. "We've come to aid you in your escape, as ordered."

Ilyich ignored the startled look Frideric was giving him. Obviously he had not been informed of this part of the plan by their master. The lack of trust placed in him therefore made him expendable, and Ilyich gave him no more of his time or concern. "You have the keys?" he asked the other men instead, not yet moving from his place on the floor, but continuing to casually recline against the wall behind him.

"Right here, sir," said the man at the lead's right, holding up a ring of keys that Ilyich had seen the king's soldiers and advisers using to unlock the cell whenever they'd come to retrieve him or his useless companion.

"Open it then."

He waited. It took a few minutes for the man to find the correct key on a ring of over two-dozen, his rescuer's counterpart keeping a lookout for anything that might prevent them from completing their task. Not a sound came from above, however; it seemed as if his subordinates had successfully penetrated the castle's defenses without any of their gracious hosts being the wiser.

When Ilyich heard the telltale clicking of the lock, he finally pushed himself away from the cold wall he was sitting against and stood to his feet, an easy smirk breaking out onto his face when the bars of the cell swung open. Frideric seemed to have found his voice at that point as well, leaping to his feet with an expression that showed him to be surprised, angry, and relieved all at the same time.

"When were you planning on telling me about this?!" he demanded, raising his voice a bit higher than necessary.

Ilyich narrowed his eyes at him, not wanting to be discovered now of all times, when he was so close to returning to his master's side, all because Frideric couldn't hold his tongue. "I rightly questioned your ability to keep your silence," he informed his failed companion, as the two men who'd secured his departure made their way into the cell with them.

Frideric's face grew red with anger and the shame he'd gained when allowing the princess to break free and caused them to be captured prematurely. "I haven't revealed anything I've been told not to!" he said contemptuously. "Even when they've beaten and abused me and threatened me with torture, I've never broken my oath to His Majesty!"

"Then it's a pity His Majesty no longer needs you."

"What?!" Frideric's eyes widened, and Ilyich watched him look between he and the other two men. "You can't just leave me here to be killed by the demons!"

"Oh, I have no intention of leaving you here. That would risk the divulgence of too much information, and there's no way I'll allow that. No, you'll be set free," Ilyich explained, holding out a hand, pleased when the man who'd taken the keys handed him one of the demon guard's swords, "to whatever fate awaits you in the afterlife."

He shot foreword before Frideric could respond, smirking as he saw the man's eyes widen even more. There was no time for him to shout or attempt to make any sort of escape. One moment Ilyich stood before his disgraced partner, and the next he was quickly dragging the edge of his newly acquired sword across Frideric's throat. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking the blade and spraying Ilyich's dirty, ragged clothing, staining the cloth a brilliant red. Frideric looked at him as liquid life drained from his body, making a few, wet choking sounds before the light went out of his eyes and his body crumpled to the floor.

As Ilyich stood over his latest victim, looking dispassionately down at the jerking form of the man who'd caused him nothing but trouble, blood still squirting out to coat his bare feet, his newest companions stepped up beside him, both marveling over what had just occurred, and subdued by the sight of the vicious murder, knowing that it could just as easily happen to them should they disappoint him as well. Ilyich had no time or patience for failure, and he hoped this had been lesson enough for them. He would give no more warnings; if they could not complete their mission, then he had no further use of them.

"Your Grace," one of them spoke, quiet in the darkened dungeon, "should we not take our leave?"

Ilyich paused before answering, considering the body and the pool of blood on the floor. "Not yet," he replied, though he had every intention of leaving this place within the hour.

"But, my Lord," the man who had been brave enough to address him continued, somewhat nervously now, as though he were second guessing himself about questioning him, "if we don't leave quickly-"

Ilyich lifted a hand to silence him, immensely pleased when he ceased his talking right away. All men should know their proper place beneath those greater than themselves.

"There will be time enough to make our way out of the castle. I trust you were discrete in making your way down here."

The two men nodded, but neither spoke again.

"Very good," Ilyich allowed some form of gratitude and appreciation to slip through. "His Majesty will be informed of your competence and loyalty," he added whilst gazing around the cell he'd been kept in for nearly a month. "Now, what say you to leaving a final message for His Majesty the Demon King?"

He turned to smirk at them, noticing the dubious looks on their faces, and how they exchanged worried glances between one another, questioning his intentions, but not brave enough to voice their thoughts aloud.

Ilyich ignored their silent concerns and unspoken questions, instead kneeling down toward Frideric's body and dipping his fingers into his warm blood.

* * *

Even after having to force his exhausted friend out of the warmth and comfort of their shared bed and their stay within the heated bath, Yuuri and Wolfram still managed to arrive at the dining room in time to have breakfast with their family and friends. They entered the room with Yuuri's hand still resting casually against the small of Wolfram's back, the door opened for them by one of the guards stationed there, and Yuuri had to nearly bite his tongue to keep himself from admonishing those already inside for the way they stood from the table in respectful greeting.

The large, circular table was nowhere close to being full, though considering how busy most people were nowadays, Yuuri didn't expect everyone to be present for every meal. Greta beamed at them from her place by the two chairs he and Wolfram usually sat in by the tall windows, and Lady Celi smiled serenely from her own space, no doubt happy to see that her youngest son was finally taking his meals in places other than his room or the king's office. Anissina and Murata rounded out the group, with Gwendal, Conrad and Gunter noticeably absent.

Yuuri just hoped they were taking care of important matters and not doing or plotting things behind his back again.

"Good morning," he greeted the four around the table, guiding Wolfram across the room to be able to take their seats.

"Good morning!" Greta chirped happily, though she'd already greeted Yuuri before. She hadn't, however, been able to speak to her other father. "Good morning, Wolfram!"

"Good morning, Greta," the blond responded, a small smile on his face as he moved to hug her, then looked at his mother as well. "Good morning, Mother."

"Good morning, Wolfram. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Just a little tired."

Yuuri used the opportunity that Lady Celi and Wolfram were exchanging their morning greeting to glance at Murata, intent on voicing a greeting of his own, but he was stopped when Murata made a motion with his head that had him looking out the window. Curiously Yuuri glanced in that direction, wondering what Murata's purpose had been in having him look outside, though it didn't take him long to figure it out for himself.

The dining room windows looked out over the front grounds of the castle, where the gates of the perimeter wall led out to the road that winded down the summit into town. Since the problems with the kingdom first began, some of the capital residents had taken to traversing the twisting road to stand behind the closed and locked gates to shout their displeasure over the bad news and dark rumors they'd been hearing. Yuuri had hoped that now that they were acting on the issue, the dissatisfaction the people had been feeling would decrease. He was therefore dismayed when their emergence into war hadn't changed their sentiments at all.

A group of commoners stood behind the gates, not as numerous as there had once been, but still enough to make a statement. Currently they were shouting at the men on duty below, and making quite a nuisance of themselves. He'd have to take care of it himself if they didn't disperse, but he'd rather not do so during breakfast, especially with Wolfram there to witness the scene. The blond had grown to be very sensitive about any act conducted by the people that wasn't in support of them or their policies, and upsetting him by causing him to notice the mini riot was not at the top of the list of things he'd like to accomplish that morning.

Plastering a smile onto his face, Yuuri turned back to the young man in question and moved to quickly guide him to his seat, so that his back would be to the window and he wouldn't look out and see the happenings below. "Come on, sit down. I'm starving!"

Wolfram looked up at him with a raised brow, especially when Yuuri pulled out his chair for him, but thankfully he didn't question his behavior and gracefully took his seat.

Relieved, Yuuri took the empty chair beside him and motioned for the others to sit down. It was only when he'd done so and the maids began to bring out their plates that Yuuri noticed another tiny figure sitting at the table next to Anissina, a young boy he hadn't yet had the opportunity to meet.

The child looked even smaller at such a large table with so many adults around him. Greta was the closest to his size, and even she rose above him by quite a bit. His dirty blond hair fell straight, and should probably be trimmed up a little to keep it from bothering his eyes, which were wide and blue-green, and fixed on Yuuri as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Yuuri smiled a little nervously, not quite understanding the admiration, and he lifted a hand to nervously wave at the boy instead of thanking the maid who brought him his breakfast as he had originally planned on doing.

The motion of his hand attracted Anissina's attention, who looked over at the boy beside her. "Oh, that's right. You haven't become acquainted yet," she said and looked back up at Yuuri, and Wolfram as well, as he'd seen the boy when Yuuri had waved to him and seemed just as interested in him as Yuuri was himself. "Your Majesties, this is Alexei Lowell, the boy we rescued in Fane. Alexei," she turned her attention back to the child, looking upon him rather fondly, "these are Their Majesties, King Yuuri and Prince Wolfram."

Alexei continued to look at them with wide eyes, but gulped and shrank a little in his chair as they both gazed back at him.

Yuuri tried to show him what he hoped was a friendly and reassuring smile, not wanting him to be afraid of them. "Uhh, hi, Alexei," he said awkwardly. He'd never really known what to say to kids, especially troubled ones who'd seen more than they should have at such a young age.

"He's really looked foreword to meeting you," Greta broke in, trying to help the boy feel more comfortable. "Haven't you, Alexei? We've been reading The Adventures together!"

"Have you?" Yuuri wondered, letting out a nervous chuckled. "Well, I think Anissina's book exaggerates things a bit. I'm really not that great…"

"Nonsense," the author herself chimed in. "I write nothing but truth!"

"Right…"

"You're going to be staying with us in the castle, aren't you, Alexei?" Yuuri turned his head to look at his husband when he heard his voice, as Wolfram tried his hand at talking to him. "Have you liked it here so far? I bet there's been plenty of new things for you to see and explore."

Alexei turned his gaze from one royal to the next, looking at Wolfram with just as much awe on his face, though his expression changed ever so slightly, as if there was something about Wolfram that put him a little more at ease. He nodded to him in response, though Yuuri couldn't tell if he'd meant to answer all questions with one gesture of it he'd just been agreeing with Wolfram's statement.

"Gwendal's going to be adopting him!" Lady Celi crowed excitedly.

Yuuri felt his eyes widen at the revelation, and he choked on the glass of juice he'd just picked up to drink from. Murata laughed at his reaction and the women shared in his amusement, but Wolfram gave him a look that clearly showed he couldn't believe he was such an imbecile.

"What?!" Yuuri exclaimed, setting his glass down and wiping at his face with a cloth napkin. "Gwendal's doing what?!"

"Adopting him. Can't you hear?" Wolfram questioned him haughtily, obviously none too impressed by the king's lack of tact.

"Well, did _you_ know about this?!"

"Not until just now, no, but I don't see why the news should have you acting like that. It's a logical step to take, given the circumstances. Greta has said Gwendal's been spending a lot of time with Alexei since he was brought here."

"But this is _Gwendal_ we're talking about here! Cold, mean, grumpy Gwendal!"

"Gwen isn't mean," a young voice contradicted him, and Yuuri froze for a moment and looked at the little boy who'd just found the courage to say something to him. He seemed to cower again now that Yuuri's gaze was back on him, and while his voice grew quieter, he continued his defense. "Gwen's real nice. He… he makes animals for me and takes care of me."

"Uhhh…" Once again Yuuri's awkwardness had returned, and he wasn't sure what to say to the kid without scaring or upsetting him. "I didn't… what I meant to say was that… well…"

"What Yuuri meant to say was the he has a habit of making Gwendal angry with him," Wolfram recovered for him, proving more adept at handling the situation than Yuuri was. "I'm sure Gwendal will make a wonderful father. He'll take very good care of you."

"My second grandbaby!" Lady Celi added in a gush. "Oh, I'm so excited!"

"You don't have to make me look like the bad guy, you know." Yuuri practically ignored his mother-in-law's excitement, mumbling instead to Wolfram. "You make it seem like I piss him off on purpose."

"Don't say something like that in front of a child," Wolfram demanded with a look of exasperation.

"What? 'Piss off'?"

"Gwen isn't angry," Alexei's young, quiet voice interrupted them again, which caused them both to look at him, which led to him shrinking in his seat a second time, and instead of shifting his gaze between the two, Alexei kept his eyes focused on Wolfram instead. "He's just worried."

Wolfram offered the child another one of his soft smiles, already seeming to have warmed up to his soon-to-be nephew. "We know that. Yuuri was just saying things he didn't mean. We're all worried, especially now, but soon things will be better again and Gwendal won't be so stressed anymore."

Yuuri marveled over how Wolfram could talk about his older brother as if he _wasn't_ angry with him and barely speaking to him, when Yuuri knew that Wolfram still felt betrayed by the older, darker man and had lost a bit of his trust in him. Yuuri was well aware of the fact that Wolfram had carried a great admiration for his eldest brother since childhood, and a deep respect that had lingered into adulthood. It was rather sad that that had been taken away from him when Gwendal had forced him to sign the Declaration of War. Now he'd been betrayed by both of his brothers, and Yuuri had to wonder what it would take for Wolfram to regain what he'd lost.

Forcing his sad thoughts away as the conversation around the table momentarily died down, Yuuri focused instead on eating his meal. He didn't know how long it took the cooks to prepare each of his meals, or even how they did it without the technology his mother used at home, but the food always tasted good. He couldn't remember ever eating something here that he didn't like. What's more, over the years that he'd lived here, they'd managed to make note of the dishes he liked best, and the manner in which he liked them prepared.

Two eggs, sunny-side up, rested before him on his plate that morning, along with a slide of ham and some warm, buttered bread, and a few slices of a certain melon he'd developed a particular fondness for. His glass was filled with an orange juice, which didn't exactly taste like orange juice on Earth, but still had a refreshingly tangy flavor. In all honesty, he'd prefer milk in the mornings - that's what he was used to drinking at his parents' house, at least - but milk here tended to go sour quicker than it did when it could be refrigerated on Earth, so there were times when he had to go without.

Glancing over at Wolfram, he noted the differences between their two meals. The cooks had had even longer to determine what catered to Wolfram's tastes, and considering Wolfram was much more picky about what he ate than Yuuri was, their meals were rarely exactly the same. Wolfram would rather have poultry than beef, and in the off chance that he did eat red meat he liked it cooked as much as it could be without being completely burned to a crisp. He disliked milk, and was completely against anything too tart, sour, or overly spicy.

His did, however, thoroughly enjoy sweet things, and Yuuri saw that everything on his plate was just that. Instead of eggs - which Wolfram claimed to be 'revolting' - there was an entire bowl of fruit: red grapes, slices of multiple different kinds of melons, and bits of the purple-ish fruit that Yuuri thought looked like a cross between an apple and a pear - already skinned, as Wolfram apparently had something against the skin. A pastry very similar to a pancake but called by a different name replaced the slice of ham, and while he had buttered bread, there was another pastry, smaller than the pancake, but thicker and topped with some sort of frosting had also been added to his plate.

Yuuri didn't know how a person could eat so many sweet things in the morning. Even Wolfram's juice was sweet - a liquid whose color was halfway between red and purple. Yuuri imagined eating all of that, and thought he might be sick if he tried. Sometimes he wondered in amusement how someone who ate so many sweet things could possibly be so vicious and mean, but he'd never said anything like that out loud for fear of being beaten to within an inch of his life. He valued his existence too much to expose himself to that sort of danger.

"What's so funny?" Wolfram asked when he caught him staring in his direction, noting the smile on his face and the humor within his expression.

Quickly, Yuuri lifted a hand to wave him off, not wanting him to think he was having a laugh at his expense. "Nothing, nothing! Just checking out your food."

Wolfram looked at him strangely, unable to decide what was so interesting about his food when he ate similar things on a day-to-day basis. "Do you want some?" he asked hesitantly, though he made a narrow-eyed glance at Yuuri's plate as if to point out the fact that he had his own food to eat.

Yuuri grinned at the question, and thought he hadn't intended to take any of his friend's food, he held his mouth open to be fed. "Ahhhhh!"

The blond made a disgusted face, flushing lightly as those who joined them at the table giggled, chuckled, and cackled at their behavior. Retrieving a single red grape from his bowl of fruit, Wolfram tossed it at him before focusing on his food and refusing to look at any of them as he mumbled things that sounded like 'wimp' and 'inappropriate' under his breath.

Yuuri barely managed to catch the grape in his mouth as it was carelessly lobbed at him, and he grinned while he chewed it, not all that embarrassed himself, though he thought he would have been a year ago - maybe even as little as a month ago. He reassured his heart and mind by telling himself he'd just been teasing, and since the others seemed to be amused by it he hardly thought it mattered much. Murata was ginning openly and Lady Celi was stifling a few giggles behind her hand, while Anissina snickered to herself and Greta was trying her hardest not to laugh, looking down at her plate as well so she wouldn't lose her composure by looking at them.

The tiny survivor from Fane had also looked up to witness the spectacle, and Yuuri saw Alexei once again looking at him with a wide-eyed, awestruck expression. He smiled as harmlessly as he could at the boy, who didn't look any older than a six-year-old human, and lifted a hand to wiggle his fingers at him in another little wave. Hesitantly, Alexei waved back, before returning to his food and shooting Yuuri furtive glances out of the corner of his eye. Yuuri copied his return to eating, and tried not to wonder over his own awkwardness with children again.

Their peaceful breakfast continued for some time, with the occasional comment made or question posed, and conversation in general was light and refrained from straying to topics that would damped the mood. Yuuri enjoyed spending time with his family and friends, even though all of them were not present, and he was happy to note that Wolfram seemed to appreciate their time with their loved ones as well. After his momentary embarrassment and disgruntled mood had faded away, the blond had spoken at length with his adopted daughter about her plans for the day, and even tried to include Alexei in the conversation and bring him out of his shell.

The atmosphere on a whole was warm and easy, and Yuuri wished they could experience more mornings like this.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when than there was a sudden, loud, thundering boom, followed closely by screaming and shouting from the people and soldiers outside. The group of seven around the table froze, and Yuuri nearly chocked on his drink again while Wolfram dropped his spork onto his plate midway through cutting a piece of his pancake, the clatter it made nearly completely drowned out by the crash of what sounded like an explosion. A tremor shook the castle from the strength of it, the chandelier rattling above the table while their drinks rippled in their glasses.

Hardly taking the time to think of what had just happened to cause the sound, Yuuri bolted from his chair to turn around and look out the window behind his seat, moving to gaze out onto the grounds. Murata met him there, quickly making his way around the table to his side, and together they watched the beginnings of the chaos below.

Part of the perimeter wall had been destroyed, which easily explained the explosion. Large chunks of stone and bits of rubble littered the ground in all directions of the gaping hole, and smoke billowed into the morning sky. A group of men who obviously did not belong on the castle grounds began to filter in through the gap and engage the soldiers in combat. The men, Yuuri noticed, his heart pounding in his chest, were wearing black.

"Shit!" he cursed breathlessly, feeling as if the wind had just been knocked out of him, as another explosion sounded in the distance and he saw smoke and fire erupt within the capital. He could just barely hear the far-off screams of the capital citizens, but he shouting and the clang of metal blades meeting down below were heard much more clearly.

In an instant, Yuuri had whirled away from the window to cross the large dining room, his foot catching on the plush rug that covered part of the hard stone floor in his rush to do something. He needn't have tried to run out, nor did he make it very far before the doors burst open and Conrad and Gunter made their way into the room with some of Conrad's personal guards.

"Yuuri!" the man who'd named him shouted, too worried at the moment to fall into his usual habit of calling him by his title. At the same time, Gunter cried, "Your Majesty!" Both seemed extremely relieved to see that he was there, and that he was safe.

"What's going on?!" Yuuri immediately questioned them, having paused only momentarily when they'd entered before he was able to fall into motion again and make his way over to them. "What happened?!" He asked this, but he already knew what the answer would be. How could it be anything else?

"The prisoners have escaped from the dungeon and we're now under attack," Conrad informed him, having already drawn his sword on the way to make his report, looking ready to join in the fray outside as soon as he was done.

"_What_?!" Yuuri nearly bellowed, his voice louder and even a bit harsher than it usually was when he shouted. "What do you mean they escaped?! How did they escape?!" Even though they'd been housed securely in a cell for the last few weeks, there was always the added security of the dungeon guards. If they'd have tried any form of escape, the guards should have noticed and quickly notified him of the attempt.

"There's no time to explain. We're searching the castle and blocking all exits while defending against the threat from outside," Conrad continued. "All of you, stay in here with Gunter. Don't go anywhere until Gwendal or myself have come to give word that all is clear. Stay away from the windows."

"But, Conrad-"

The brown haired man stopped him before he could even make a decent start. "Yuuri, this is not the time to argue," he said, sounding more short and impatient with him than he ever had before. "Stay. I'll be back soon."

Yuuri watched him go, leaving Gunter and a group of his soldiers to defend those left inside, closing the door behind him and no doubt putting more soldiers in place to guard it. The young king tried not to feel too put off by how Conrad had spoken to him since he knew now wasn't the time for them to stand around talking, but he didn't like remaining behind when there might be things he could do to help. If he was really as strong as everyone said he was, then what was the point of having so much power if he wasn't allowed to use it? Surely there was something even _he_ could do.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty," Gunter tried to mollify him, though the man himself was nowhere near as chipper as a typical day saw him. "They may have been able to breach the castle wall, but our soldiers will not allow them to enter the castle itself. We have more than enough men to deal with this."

Yuuri looked at him, knowing Gunter was right but still not feeling great about it, nodding in response before turning away and going back to his family. Anissina had already ushered Alexei away from the table and windows, though the boy looked petrified even if he wasn't able to see what was going on. Murata had not yet heeded Conrad's orders and remained by the windows to witness the battle taking place, and Greta and Lady Celi had both swooped in on Wolfram as soon as the news of the prisoners' escape had been given. Greta looked part scared and part angry, holding onto one of Wolfram's hands in a gesture of fear and protection. Lady Celi was more worried than anything else, as she'd been since the night Wolfram and Greta had been attacked.

In the four years the he had known the blond, Yuuri had never seen Wolfram look as afraid as he did now - Yuuri had never even see him _show_ much fear before now. Whatever sort of color he'd had in his pale skin before their breakfast had been interrupted had completely drained away. His eyes weren't wide in surprise but glazed over as some unwanted thought or memory overtook him, and his thin hands trembled at his sides. He stood as if completely paralyzed, next to the chair he'd been sitting in only minutes ago and half turned toward the windows, as if he'd just been about to look out when Conrad had uttered the statement none of them had wanted to hear.

Carefully, trying not to scare him further or make him feel cornered - or have him pull away from him out of shame - Yuuri moved over to his stricken friend, placing his hands onto his shoulders to steady him. "Wolfram, look at me," he spoke to him softly, keeping his own worries and anger to himself.

Green eyes lifted, and though they weren't as full of life and emotion as they normally were, a small spark lit within them, enough for Yuuri to know that he had his attention.

"It's going to be okay, Wolfram," he said. He didn't exactly believe it himself, but he could still hope. "Conrad and the others are going to take care of things. Nothing else is going to happen, I promise." It was probably stupid of him to promise things he couldn't control, and he might end up paying for it later, but for now he just wanted to keep his friend calm.

Eventually, Wolfram swallowed thickly and nodded. He didn't look completely reassured, and the fear remained. Yuuri kept wondering if the fear would ever go away, and over and over again things kept happening to make him think Wolfram would be carrying it around forever. He hated it. It made him feel like a failure to see one of the bravest people he'd ever met reduced to this.

"Let's move away from the window," he suggested. If another explosion were to be set off close enough to the castle, the windows could burst and they'd be showered with broken glass.

"No," Wolfram finally spoke, and even if he was refusing, Yuuri was glad to hear some strength in his voice. "I want to stay here."

"But, Wolfram, it's dangerous. The windows, they could-"

"You don't need to tell me how dangerous it is. I already know," the blond replied, his hands still shaking slightly, but he was beginning to look and sound more determined. "I want to see what happens. I _have_ to."

Yuuri was ready to argue with him, to tell him it wasn't a good idea and order him to move away from the windows, but Wolfram's show of determination stopped him. He wanted to do whatever he could to help Wolfram get his pride and confidence back, and it seemed to him as if he'd be contradicting himself and preventing the return if he were to thwart Wolfram and start ordering him around when he was actually showing a small part of his older self. He knew Wolfram disliked being ordered around by him, that he would rather be treated as an equal instead of someone inferior, so disallowing him to make his own decision about this might end up causing him to take two steps back instead of a step foreword in his recovery.

"Okay," he relented, deflating a bit since he'd rather Wolfram not see any more of this. "You can stay for now." But if it looked like they should be backing away, he'd have him out of there in a second. "Greta, you should move back. Why don't you make sure Alexei's okay?" She was fond enough of the boy; it should help distract her. "Lady Celi, stay with her, please."

He waited until the two of them had backed away before joining Murata at one of the windows, taking Wolfram's left hand so that he would follow. Murata only spared him the smallest of glances out of the corner of his eye when they stood side-by-side, and his expression did not change from the serious frown that graced his face much too often now.

"They came at us straight on," his Earthen friend explained, lifting a hand to point out the destruction taking place in the capital. "You see how most of the fire started in that area, along the main street and the town square? They went straight for the most valuable part of the city, and at this time of day I'm sure it was already pretty heavily populated."

Yuuri swallowed down the bile that was quick to rise in his throat, not wanting to think about the number of people who were already dead. From his spot by the window, he could see the front gates where the rioters had been shouting and making trouble at the start of breakfast. Now all that remained of them was a lone body lying in the dirt. All the others had scattered or been dragged away to a fate he could only guess at.

"How do you think they managed to get up to the castle without any of our soldiers noticing?" he asked, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. "Wouldn't one of the men in the watch-towers have seen them? There's no place for them to hide on the main road." Once the dirt path began ascending toward the palace, everything on either side of it fell away. If they'd walked the path, they would have been seen; even if they'd scaled the sides of the summit, someone should have noticed.

"My best guess is that they have someone on the inside working with them," Murata said, in no way happy about that. The thought of a traitor - or _traitors_ - in their midst wasn't something any of them liked to consider. "Even if they somehow managed to get up here without detection, someone had to have seen them with whatever they used to blow up the wall, which means someone purposefully ignored it."

Yuuri frowned, wondering if the culprit was one of his own men or another person posing as one of their soldiers. Somehow these people were still making their way into their ranks, and he didn't like it.

The wall was still smoking from where it had been blown apart, though not as thickly as it had been right after the explosion. The grounds were filled with soldiers doing battle with the invaders, and Yuuri was relieved to see that there were more of his men than enemy fighters. A few bodies lied on the ground, but for the most part there wasn't yet a great loss of life. He didn't know if the same could be said for the capital residents, but he hoped that a majority of the force had come up to the castle instead of staying in the city.

All of a sudden, Wolfram gripped his hand so tightly Yuuri thought he might shatter his fingers, his knuckles pressed together painfully; Yuuri barely managed to hear the sharp intake of breath from the blond through thoughts of the discomfort. Startled, Yuuri turned his gaze over to him and saw that his eyes had gone very wide, his face as pale as it had been before, and the rate of his breathing suddenly increased. He noted movement out of the corner of his eye and looked down to see that Wolfram's right hand had lifted and moved as if to grab the hilt of his sword, which he had not worn since before they'd been married. Since he was the prince now and no longer an active-duty soldier, he wasn't required to carry it around, and seemed to have gotten into the bad habit of going without it.

Yuuri looked at him in concern, before following his wide-eyed gaze down to the ground below. This time he noticed an individual he hadn't seen amongst the fighting men before, and the size of his own eyes grew when he finally caught sight of him. There, with one of the standard issue sword of the soldiers of the Great Demon Kingdom at hand, was one of their escaped prisoners - Ilyich, if he was remembering correctly, the one he'd been told had dealt with Wolfram during the night of the attack. He was quite distinguishable between all the other men, as the soldiers were wearing the standard gray armor, and their enemy was swathed in black. Ilyich wore nothing but the ragged clothing he'd been wearing all throughout his time in captivity.

He knew he should have pulled Wolfram away from the window right then, that allowing him to see his attacker potentially escape was a worse idea than allowing the blond to watch the fighting had been. He almost did, but he couldn't, rooted to the spot with his eyes locked on the action below. He wanted to shout, wanted to order their soldiers to catch that man, to point him out so they wouldn't miss him, even if they wouldn't hear him through the glass floors above. Ilyich was going to escape if no one stopped him; there was an easy way out through the large hole in the wall.

Seconds later, Gwendal came out of nowhere, sword drawn and green uniform already splattered with blood. He'd seen what both Yuuri and Wolfram had seen and put himself between the escapee and his route to freedom. It seemed as if words were exchanged between them, but Yuuri was obviously unable to hear them. He imagined Gwendal had threatened the man and Ilyich had laughed at the idea - it seemed a likely scenario in his mind, judging by what he knew of the both of them. Gwendal had wanted to see Ilyich and his companion dead the moment they'd been captured, and while Yuuri wouldn't have approved of it at the time, he could understand the compulsion.

Swords clashed as the two men charged on one another, and Wolfram's grip on Yuuri's hand tightened even more. With his free hand, Yuuri pried their joined appendages apart, fearing Wolfram was going to do serious damage to his throwing hand, sliding his arm around him and pulling him against his side instead, fully prepared to take him away from the window now. Gwendal would take care of it; whether he captured Ilyich again or killed him, it didn't matter anymore. Just as long as he didn't escape.

There were more explosions, still not as loud as the first, but enough to have Yuuri jumping with the sound of each one. Fire spread through the capital city, and the fighting below grew in intensity as the minutes passed. Neither he nor Wolfram nor Murata could tear themselves away. Even as more men began to fall, even as blood was spilled and lives were lost, Yuuri couldn't remove himself. Those were his men, and they were fighting in his defense. He owed them, and right now watching their acts of heroism seemed all he could do.

As positive as things had looked for them before - or at least as positive as things could be given that they were under attack - the situation only seemed to grow worse as the minutes passed. Gwendal was still engaged in a fight with Ilyich, and soon more men in black were flooding through the hole in the wall to join their comrades, having come up from the burning city. Gwendal was momentarily distracted by the sudden battle cries emanating from the men pouring in, and had to perform a rather flashy looking move to block the blade that was being swung his way. One of their soldiers approached him from behind, but instead of offering him aid, Gwendal suddenly found a sword lodged in his side.

Wolfram gasped beside him and Yuuri let out a cry of alarm as Gwendal fell to the ground, his own blood joining the other stains on his uniform. Ilyich turned to speak with the soldier who'd helped him, and Yuuri saw the man lift an arm to point in their direction. Within moments, their escaped prisoner was looking up at the dining room windows, a triumphant smirk blazoned across his face.

He looked up for some time, and Yuuri felt Wolfram taking a deep, shaky breath at his side. Before long, Ilyich raised one of his hands in a mocking wave, and turned to make his way through the crowd of fighting men, disappearing through the broken perimeter wall.

When Wolfram swayed on his feet, Yuuri was finally able to rip his eyes away, immediately turning to his friend to make sure that he was all right. He looked sick, and the quick breaths he was taking concerned Yuuri, as it seemed as if he were going to start hyperventilating. Rarely, if ever, did Wolfram fall into an extreme sense of panic, but when he did his anxiety tended to overtake him completely, and his body's attack on itself was imminent.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri called his name, wanting to get his attention, to stop the panic before it could truly start, but it already seemed to be too late. Wolfram seemed ready to be sick, and certainly looked as if he were about to throw up. Quickly, Yuuri led the blond back, over to one of the chairs at the dining room table, pulling it out and guiding him down into it, sliding a hand along his back and pushing at him to get him to lean over.

"It's okay. Put your head between your knees," he instructed, helping him in whatever way he knew how. He'd prefer to call Gisela, but with all that was going on right now and with all the people injured outside, he doubted she had the time. "It's okay, Wolfram. It's okay," he continued, though he doubted his words were very reassuring.

Ilyich has escaped, and now Yuuri wondered if Wolfram would ever feel safe.

Murata remained by the window even as they'd backed away, and Lady Celi came back over as soon as she noticed that something was wrong with her son, kneeling down beside him and speaking to him softly, attempting to soothe him as well. "Shhh. Calm down. Breathe, Wolfram."

Yuuri joined her on the floor, putting himself in front of Wolfram and moving close enough so that while the blond leaned over, he could have Wolfram's head resting on his shoulder. He didn't know what else to do aside from using his magic, and so he did, one arm on best friend's back hoping to ease his aching lungs, the other hand sliding into his curly hair, resting against the crown of his head and alleviating the stress on his mind.

"Just breathe, Wolfram," he whispered, speaking directly into his ear. "Take a deep breath. Let it out slow."

Wolfram did as he was told, though even then he didn't settle. He seemed not to be able to decide whether to panic or be sick. He tried to regain control of himself, and Yuuri was proud of him for it since he knew how difficult it was for him. The use of magic seemed to work after a while, and Lady Celi soon joined in the effort, consoling her youngest child, while her eldest remained in a questionable condition below without her knowledge.

Yuuri held onto him the entire time, working his magic and offering him comfort. Just as before he'd been unable to pull away from the window, he was unable to pull away from his friend now. Minutes passed and eventually he lost track of time. He could hear the sounds of battle continuing outside, but in focusing on his friend it seemed like nothing more than white noise. His heart hurt to see Wolfram in such a condition, and he swore to himself that he'd do all he could to prevent it from ever happening again.

At some point Wolfram regained his ability to breathe properly, and the compulsion to throw up lessened. Yuuri held him even then, until the blond pulled away from him on his own, looking pale and tired, but otherwise seemed as if he'd be all right. Yuuri remained where he was on the floor in front of him, looking up at him with as much of a smile as he could muster. Wolfram didn't smile back, but looked at him in distress, silently begging for his help, though Yuuri wasn't sure what he wanted his help with.

Slowly, he stood to his feet, and Wolfram's hand shot out to grab onto his uniform jacket to stop him from going too far. Yuuri paused, looking at him curiously, and Wolfram leaned foreword again, though this time instead of putting his head between his knees he leaned against him, his arms sliding around his waist as he pressed his face against Yuuri's stomach. Yuuri stood still for a few moments, then put his arms back around him, letting him remain close for as long as he wanted.

Eventually, the fighting stopped. Yuuri didn't know exactly when that was, but soon he couldn't hear the sounds of battle outside anymore. There were still shouts from the soldiers, and screaming in the distance, but the clang of swords soon died away. Men in the halls barked orders at one another, and Murata finally came away from the window to start pacing the room instead, but still Yuuri held Wolfram, and still Wolfram held him.

They only parted when the door opened, though the separation was reluctant on both their parts. Even so, Yuuri was glad to see that Conrad had returned. His uniform was smeared with dirt and blood, his hair was disheveled, and he looked a little worse for wear, but Yuuri was simply relieved that he was okay, that he'd come out of it seemingly uninjured.

"Your Majesty," the brown haired man greeted him, back to his usual unnecessary formalities, sounding extremely fatigued. "We've secured the castle. The enemy has retreated and we have men following them. Unfortunately, one of our prisoners escaped through the palace wall."

"We know," Yuuri told him to save him the time it would take to explain how he'd been able to make his exit. He wasn't pleased about it, and he could tell Conrad wasn't either.

"How's Big Brother?" Wolfram asked, his own voice a bit weak and shaky. He stumbled a bit as he finally stood from the chair he'd been helped into, and Yuuri reached out to steady him again. The fact that he'd reverted to calling Gwendal 'Big Brother' again proved that he was now more concerned for him than angry over what he'd forced him to do.

"Gwendal?" Lady Celi gasped in surprise, not having witnessed his injury. "What happened to Gwen?"

In the corner of the room, Alexei whimpered.

"Gwendal was injured," Conrad explained. "Gisela's treating him as we speak. She says he'll be fine. He'll just need some time to recover."

Yuuri let out a sigh of relief, and he felt Wolfram sag against him as Lady Celi whispers thanks to some higher power. For a day that had started out well enough and had seen Wolfram relatively at ease, he now seemed drained of all energy. Ilyich's escape has sucked any of the confidence he'd managed to gain right back out of him.

"If any of the enemy men are captured, I'd like to question them again," Yuuri said. Then he paused, remembering the last time he'd gone down to the dungeons to interrogate their former prisoners. "If one of the prisoners managed to escape, what happen to the other one? Was he caught?" The other had seemed a bit less threatening, but Yuuri would still not like to see him free.

Conrad frowned and didn't answer right away, and though his expression remained neutral enough, Yuuri could see in his eyes that he was debating with himself whether or not he should say something. At one time in Yuuri's life, Conrad might have thought against it, but since the last time he'd demanded to be shown to the prisoners, the man who'd named him had seemed to reconsider shielding him from certain things. Yuuri was grateful for it. He knew Conrad was doing it to protect him, but he'd rather his advisers trust in him to be able to handle things than keep them from him because they thought he was too weak or innocent to deal with it.

"Your Majesty," the brunet began slowly, still seeming to consider it, before letting out a sigh. "Perhaps you should come with me. There's something you should see."

Yuuri blinked but nodded, not understanding what he could possibly have to show him but willing to go with him nonetheless. He glanced at Wolfram, ready to pull away from him and follow his godfather, but Wolfram grabbed his hand to prevent him from going, or at least to force him to bring him along if he did go.

"Wolfram, you should probably come, as well," Conrad said, as if noticing the reaction. "You have every right to see it. Gunter, if you could escort everyone else to a safer location. I'll fill you in as soon as we're done."

He didn't wait for a response, motioning for Yuuri and Wolfram to follow him, and the two quickly did so, trailing behind him hand-in-hand. It wasn't hard to figure out that they were heading to the dungeons, and Yuuri easily remembered the last time he and Wolfram had been led to the stairs going down below the castle. He'd had to leave Wolfram on the landing above the last time, and for good reason; if Wolfram reacted the way he had just seeing Ilyich at a distance, there was no telling how a confrontation would have gone. What was more, he didn't know how _he_ would have reacted toward the two men if Wolfram had been down there for them to victimize - with words if not actions.

There were soldiers and guards running up and down the halls, helping the injured, securing the many rooms, and making sure all danger had passed. Yuuri smiled encouragingly at those who did look his way, and nodded at them in thanks for their services, but for the most part they went about their business without noticing that he was making his way through. There was talk of the damage that had been done to the capital, and while Yuuri wanted to know of the number of casualties and the cost of repairs, he knew he'd be informed of all that soon enough.

Conrad hardly paused once they reached the stairs, where a large group of soldiers had gathered, moving in and out and speaking to one another in whispers. These men easily noticed Yuuri and Wolfram's presence and saluted to them before scurrying out of the way, whispering again once they'd passed. Yuuri looked on in confusion, wondering what this was all about, before they were descending the stairs into the dark, stuffy dungeon.

More soldiers stood just down the hall, in front of the open gate of the cell Ilyich had formerly been housed in. Yuuri couldn't understand why they'd leave it open like that if there was still one prisoner that needed to be contained, and Wolfram squeezed his hand at the sight of it, taking another of many deep, hopefully settling breaths.

It wasn't until they'd stopped in front of the cell that he finally attained understanding. His heart and his stomach dropped to his feet as he turned to look in, and he heard Wolfram let out a cry of alarm.

On the cold stone floor lay the body of their second prisoner, lifeless eyes left wide open as he rested in a pool of his own blood, which was congealing on the floor and had leaked from him through an obvious and gruesome wound to his neck. Yuuri stared at the body, trying not to be sick over the sight of it, and confused as to why he'd been brought to see this when Conrad could have easily told him that he was dead. Who killed him, he didn't know, but he didn't think it mattered much at the moment.

When Wolfram gasped beside him he turned his head to shift his eyes to him, wanting to do anything to keep from looking at the corpse on the ground any longer. Wolfram had gone pale and shaky again, and he was tugging at Yuuri's arm, looking straight ahead and pointing at something in front of them.

Yuuri followed his gaze and saw the ominous words drawn in red along the wall, written in blood.

"_To His Majesty Yuuri of the Great Demon Kingdom,_

_This last gift I give to you, the final warning I will send;_

_I'll bring your country to its knees before this war shall end._

_Your people will then long remember violence, blood and pain_

_As right before their very eyes their beloved king is slain._

_Long live the Demon King and his Demon Whore,_

_Lyron Aurelius, reigning King of Isidore."_

**TBC…**


	19. Partir

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters.

**Beta-ed by: **Guinechan.

**Warnings (overall): **Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Setting: **Post-Season Two.

**Rating: **PG-13/T for now.

**A/N:** I meant to add this A/N last night, but it was one o'clock in the morning when I posted this so it kind of slipped my mind. Hopefully most of you guys will still see this. I just wanted to let everyone know that I'll be bumping the rating up to M with the next chapter. I have a scene planned that I'm not quite sure is appropriate for the T rating, so I'll be raising it to be safe. I was going to raise it at some point anyway, so I figured I'd do it now. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and as always I'm sorry for the long wait! The next chapter should be updated much more quickly!

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Nineteen - Partir - To Leave**

Yuuri sat behind his desk, three sheets of parchment resting before him on the dark, wooden surface, each in different states of wear. The first had a hole through the top from where it had been kept in place, attached to a corpse by the point of a sword; there were splotches of blood stained onto it, more brown than red now that they had dried and were no longer fresh. The second was wrinkled, crumpled and fisted in rage and heartache, withered looking and nearly torn, but spread out so that he may view them all together. The last was the neatest of the three, the writing precise on fresh parchment, words that had been copied from their place of origin on the dungeon wall.

He allowed his eyes to carefully sweep over the writing, though he knew them all by heart. They'd recited themselves over and over again in his mind since the first one had been recovered in Fane. The verses taunted him with their threatening rhymes, and the menacing language caused the Great Demon King, lying dormant for so long within him now, to stir in irritation. From one to the next he moved his eyes, his mood dark and thunderous.

'_Long live the Demon King, and his Demon Whore.'_

That single line mocked him, and he could almost hear chilling laughter resounding in his head, forcing images from his intuitive dreams from the back of his mind into the forefront. His enemies didn't intend for him to live long, despite the closing remarks on each of the letters. From the first to the last, the words grew more cryptic, more telling of the plans that had been made against he and his people, secretly, without him any the wiser that another, more fierce enemy lurked out there, waiting for the precise moment to strike.

They were going to kill him. They were going to attack his people, hurt them, kill them, and then they were going to kill him - how, he didn't yet know, but the intention to inflict death upon him had been made explicitly clear. He'd never even spoken to this newest adversary, yet this foreign ruler wished to take his life nonetheless, and in the most painful way imaginable, he could guess, if the tyrannical aura he felt from the letters was any indication.

And then what? When they'd succeeded in that task, what would happen to his people? To his kingdom?

The answer wasn't a difficult idea to conceptualize. So many of his citizens had already been slaughtered in the name of this ruthless king; by the time the man's objectives had been realized, no one would be able to stop him from continuing his bloody rampage. Yuuri's men would be murdered, more savagely the more they fought, his women would be raped and tortured before finally being granted the release of death, and his children, the tiny beacons of hope that they were, the light of the future, would be snuffed out like small candles amidst a harsh gale.

His family would be kept alive, he was sure of that, but their fate wouldn't be any better. He could see Wolfram, forced into some sick form of servitude to a vicious king in a foreign land, the mental image as clear as it had been when he'd seen him subjugated to the dark shadow in his dreams. Wolfram, his ever faithful, golden haired prince was no whore now, but if Yuuri were to give in, if he were to lose his throne and have his life cut short, his husband would be taken and forced into a whore's role. He would belong to another king, follow another man's orders, and be chained to another man's bed.

'_Lyron Aurelius, reigning King of Isidore.'_

He felt sick just thinking about it, knowing the threat was real, that the danger was out there, come to light now with the revelation during the attack on Blood Pledge Castle and the capital city just a week ago. He'd had time to think about it, to make plans, to prepare himself for the inevitability, to come to terms with the cards that fate had dealt him.

He knew about Isidore. His advisers had spoken to him about the country ever since Cimaron had opened hostilities against the Great Demon Kingdom and Belar had attempted to form an alliance with King Lyron. The largest and most powerful military in the world was in Lyron's possession, hundreds of thousands of loyal soldiers, bordering on millions. There were masters of the esoteric arts within their ranks, extremely clever tacticians, and weaponry that was far more sophisticated than what most kings could provide for their troops.

The odds were against them, he knew that. They had Cimaron coming at them from one side and Isidore coming at them from the other, trapped between two powerful foes, neither working with the other but desiring similar goals: to conquer and destroy their greatest challenge, then spread their influence throughout the rest of the world. Yuuri had been successful in stopping Belar before, but with Lyron now against them - for no reason but his ambitions for total domination - he didn't think there was much he could hope for.

"Sergei Ilyich Korsakov, Duke of Kurgan, is King Lyron's Specialized Military Adviser," Gunter's voice seeped through the negative thoughts currently swirling in Yuuri's mind, and caused him to break his gaze with the documents in front of him to glance at those situated around the room.

Gunter was seated in the first chair to Yuuri's left, at a long table in front of his desk, reading glasses on as he scanned over the information they'd slowly been gaining since they'd learned the true identity of their more dangerous enemy. Murata sat on the opposite side across from him, elbows resting on the table and hands clasped in front of him, looking quite calm, though Yuuri knew not to think that he was. Lady Celi was next to the Great Sage with Anissina beside her, and Yozak sat across from them.

Gwendal sat furthest away, his overcoat unbuttoned but draped over his shoulders, and his white shirt hiding the bandages wrapped around his torso. He'd suffered more than the stab wound Yuuri, Wolfram and Murata had witnessed from the dining room windows, and was still recovering from the injuries, though they seemed not enough to prevent him from seeing to his work. He appeared less angry now that they were learning more and had information to work off of, but the stress and tension in his posture remained. His eyes were still narrowed, his face lined with worry as he frowned.

Closest to Yuuri were Conrad and Wolfram, the former standing by the wall to his right, leaning back against it, listening carefully to the conversation about the take place, but keeping an eye on his two charges as well. Wolfram sat with Yuuri behind his desk, in a chair to his left, tense and appearing quite uncomfortable as they discussed his would-be rapist. Yuuri reached out for his hand and squeezed it, giving him as much support as he could under the current circumstances.

"'Specialized'?" Wolfram asked, his voice more quiet than usual, but loud enough to be clearly heard. He pulled Yuuri's hand closer to him, squeezing it back before holding it between both of his own.

Gunter nodded, and though Wolfram's change in behavior was quite obvious to everyone in the room, none of them spoke of it. "Lord Kurgan is disconnected from the main army, and instead rigorously trains a separate, more secretive branch of combatants, specially instructed and educated to be an elite fighting force."

"The attackers in black," Murata observed.

"It seems so, yes, Your Eminence."

Yuuri frowned, and he felt Wolfram's hands tightening around his own. "So they were trained specifically to attack us?"

"That doesn't seem likely, or at least it's not that personal," Yozak chimed in, leaning back in his seat in his usual leisurely manner. Even so, he was paying careful attention to everything that was being said, though most of the information they now had had been gained by him, as well as the rest of Gwendal's web of spies and informants. "Kurgan's not the first who's held the job. The position was originally created forty-five years ago when Lyron's father, Eitan, took over the kingdom of Aneurin. His brother Gideon expanded the division but never used it; Lyron, on the other hand, seems to have a certain fondness for it."

His head spinning from all the information, Yuuri was having a hard time keeping up. "Wait, wait, wait. Can you slow down just a bit. I need to know more about Isidore before I hear all this. What sort of people are they and what's their motive for attacking us?"

He could see Gwendal frowning, not pleased that they had to explain this to him again, but Gunter didn't seem to mind giving him a quick refresher course. "Isidore was formerly four separate countries, of which Isidore was one. Two hundred years ago, they went to war with one of their neighboring countries, Rozia, and overtook them. The province of Rozia, in the center of what is today known as Isidore, is cold and mostly mountainous in the east. The lands of Kurgan are within Rozia, and were granted to Ilyich six years ago for his services to the King.

"One hundred and twenty years ago, Isidore took over another country to its south, Eron, though they did so through more peaceful means. Efrem, the King of Isidore at the time, had married the king of Eron's oldest daughter, Axelia. Because Eron had no male heir, the kingdom was left to Efrem and Axelia's only son, Antonius, thus joining it with Isidore."

Yuuri tried to keep up, but there were too many names. During his studies, he'd have had to write it all down and look it over multiple time for it to sink in in the correct order. He didn't have that luxury now, and could only pay as close attention as he possibly could, hoping to at least retain the most important parts of Gunter's long and detailed explanation.

"The third and final country, Aneurin, is known for its rich gold deposits. It was taken through force by Lyron's father. It lies to the south-east of Isidore proper, which lies to the east of Cimaron. It is mostly a land-locked country, except for a small portion of Eron which manages to meet the sea at it's most south-western point. Belar must have allowed Lyron's troops passage through his own lands for them to make it to the Great Demon Kingdom, as we've yet to discover any Isidorian ships in our waters. If there's one thing Lyron is lacking, it's a decent navy."

"Which makes sense," Anissina observed. "They have no real need of one."

That, Yuuri understood. If there was little to no ocean bordering a country then there was no purpose in putting the money into a strong navy, as most of their threats would come from the land. Island countries, however, relied heavily on their navies, as all of their enemies would be coming from the sea. The Great Demon Kingdom had an exceptional navy seeing as it was bordered by water on more than one side, and it eased Yuuri's worries somewhat to know that there was at least one thing they had that was superior to Lyron's.

"Precisely," Gunter was nodding to Anissina's observation.

"So instead of wasting money on expensive ships, Lyron's been able to spend it on his infantry, cavalry and artillery. He can put his money into advanced weaponry for his soldiers to use," Yozak explained.

"Okay," Yuuri said, growing more comfortable with his knowledge of the enemy the more they went over it. "Now, tell me about Lyron."

"His people like him," Yozak responded. "He's ambitious. If there's one thing the Isidorians want, it's land by sea routes. A portion of their country is blocked off in the east by mountains, which cuts off some trade, and we've already said they touch very little ocean. They're somewhat isolated; they need more routes for trade. Most Isidorian kings have attempted to extend their reach in the hopes of one day acquiring land by the sea. Lyron seems to be continuing the practice."

Gunter was quick to take over again, ever the informative tutor. "Lyron took the throne after his brother, Gideon Horatius, died of illness. Gideon had been amassing a large number of troops and improving his armies, so it can be assumed that he intended to attack one of his neighboring countries at some point, but he remained neutral during our war with Cimaron twenty-four years ago. Gideon had no heir with his wife Irina, and since Isidorian law states that females cannot inherit the throne above male offspring regardless of age, Lyron Aurelius became the king instead of his older sister, Lirit Domitia."

Yuuri casually looked around the room to see who was actually following all of this. Murata's expression hadn't changed at all, and Lady Celi, Anissina, and Yozak seemed to know the history already. Gwendal was frowning deeply, obviously displeased by the fact that they were having to go over it all again, and Conrad, though paying attention, didn't seem to be hearing anything new. Only Wolfram looked interested in any way, though Yuuri supposed he merely wanted to make sure everything he already knew about Isidore was correct.

With a soft sigh, Yuuri lifted his free hand to rub at his temples, feeling a headache building as he tried to keep track of everything. Wolfram noticed and spared a glance in his direction, squeezing his hand again in silent support.

"Lyron has been married twice now. First to Erela, the daughter of a lesser nobleman, soon after he became King. She died birthing a stillborn son. Lyron married his second and current wife, Bryndis, three years after. They have no children as of yet."

"So Isidore has no heir." Yuuri was quick to pick up on that after all the trouble he'd had with requiring an heir, which had led to him marry Wolfram in the first place. It was a vulnerability that could easily be exploited.

"Not by Lyron, no, Your Majesty," Gunter agreed. "But Princess Lirit has three children by her husband, the Duke of Grafton, so it can be assumed that should Lyron not have a son, the throne would be left to her eldest."

"Why is Isidore attacking us, then?" Yuuri asked, still not having a clear idea of Lyron's motives. "If he wants land by the sea, why not attack Cimaron? I mean, if they border it then isn't it the easiest target?"

"It has to do with justification, Shibuya," Murata told him, serious but patient. "We know why they want our land - we have many sea routes that would benefit them and a vast amount of natural resources - but the conquest for land isn't the justification they'd give to everyone else. You know what their reasons are. You've heard the same thing since you first assumed the throne."

It didn't take Yuuri long to realize what he was referring to. "Because the Demon Tribe is evil," he recited.

"We certainly gave the humans a reason to believe that in the past," Lady Celi said. "At times we've lived up to our name. The attacks Isidore is conducting against us mirror raids we conducted against the humans hundreds of years ago."

"They know our history as well as we know theirs," Gunter nodded in response. "Better, perhaps, seeing as we are such a large force in the world. Information would not be hard to come by, especially if Lyron has communicated with Belar. Our greatest enemy would surely have a lot to say against us."

"Not only that," Anissina added, "but by using the humans' negative thoughts about us as justification, few other countries would question or rise up to stop them. We've made treaties with many, but not enough. Once Isidore has conquered us, they'll be in the perfect position to take Cimaron from both sides."

"But then what is the point of these?" Yuuri wondered, lifting up one of the sheets of parchment to show them, though they should all know what he was talking about. "Why the poetic threats?"

"Provocation," Gwendal's voice caused a jolt of surprise to go through him, as he hadn't expected him to speak. "He's testing you, discovering what your weaknesses are, who and what can be used against you. You're a new king and a young king, and your policies of peace are well known. Lyron doesn't see you as a challenge, though it would seem he is trying to provoke you into acting against him."

Yuuri tried not to let his surprise get the better of him, keeping his voice even as he conversed with his estranged Chief Adviser. "Why?"

"For the fun of it," Yozak answered instead, shrugging. "That's my guess, at least. I'm sure he thinks his victory will come easily, but he'd still like to see the most we've got. It'll be a good test of our men; he'll know whether they're worthy enough to be made to fight for him once he's taken over, or if he should just get rid of them."

Shutting his eyes against the thought of all of his men being murdered, Yuuri took a deep breath to calm himself. He was too sensitive to all of this; he needed to grow a thicker skin. Death was inevitable no matter which way he looked at it. All he could do now was try to minimize the losses as much as possible.

"What do we do, then?" he asked, opening his eyes and looking around at his friends, expecting that their advice would help.

"First, we try to liberate some of our villages that have been attacked," Yozak replied. "We already have plans to reclaim our coastal towns that were seized in Christ."

"We'll also see to securing our borders," Gwendal spoke again. "If Isidore is entering through Cimaron, then we should see to cutting them both off. They'll have to rethink their plans and come up with another way in, which will give us the opportunity to turn the offensive in our favor."

"I don't suppose building a wall would work," Yuuri mumbled, though it was loud enough for them to hear him. All this talk of war was already beginning to be too much for him. It had been started without his approval, and now it looked as if it were going to be lasting for quite a while. Would they ever have peace again?

Murata shook his head. "You know we hardly have the time, the man power, or the resources for a project like that. Not to mention a wall would only serve to cut us off from the rest of the world. We want to defend our people, not isolate ourselves and alienate the humans."

"My brother is already amassing his soldiers in Karbelnikoff," Anissina said, strangely subdued, as for once she failed to introduce some crazy invention or another.

Gwendal nodded, and seemed to take control of the conversation as talk turned to military matters. Yuuri let him, knowing he had greater knowledge of what needed to be done than he did. "What can we expect from Stoffel?"

"He's readying the Spitzweg army as we speak," Lady Celi replied.

"What of the other territories?"

"Christ can spare a few more men," Gunter spoke for himself, "Bielefeld is preparing their army, as well as their portion of the navy. Captain von Bielefeld is already patrolling the seas for signs of any enemy ships. So far Cimaron warships have been the only vessels he's come across."

"Factoring everyone else in, do we have enough troops? The forces of Isidore are formidable," Murata observed.

Gwendal nodded. "We have a sufficient amount. I'm sure if a time comes when we need more men, we will be able to recruit more. Securing the border is our main priority at the moment, not active combat."

"Perhaps we should wait to deal with that issue once we've successfully pushed the enemy forces from our lands," Conrad suggested. "It would be best if we didn't push ourselves too thin too fast. Going against an enemy like Isidore, we need to be careful with how we spread out our men. Any weakness in our defenses will only aid Lyron."

"Agreed. But we should formulate a plan ahead of time. We need to be prepared for every possible circumstance. We can't afford to overlook anything."

Yuuri looked back and forth, between Gwendal and Conrad and whoever else was speaking at the moment, trying to come up with something wise and intelligent to say himself, but finding that everything they were saying made more sense than any plans he could make on his own. He had no military background the way everyone else in the room did. What did he know besides peace? He'd never been in a war or seen any of his friends die beside him.

"Yozak and I will be riding out with the troops departing in three days. We'll canvas the border and see what can be done to raise its defenses," Conrad offered, and Yuuri stopped looking between his friends to gaze at his godfather with wide eyes.

"Very well," Gwendal acknowledged, with not a single question toward Conrad's intentions.

"Conrad…" Yuuri tried, not wanting to see him leave. "… but…"

Conrad merely smiled at him reassuringly. "I must lead the men, Your Majesty."

"But…"

As much as he disliked the thought of war, it was easier to think of the soldiers as faceless men whose names he didn't know. Having Conrad go out to join them would make his connection with them much more personal. Conrad was his godfather, his confidante, his friend. Conrad had been with him since the moment he'd entered this world, protecting him and guiding him along his path. Very few times had he gone off to fight, choosing to make the King's protection his top priority.

He knew the priority now was to have good leaders in charge of their soldiers, brave men who'd experienced war before and could lead their armies with a level head. Conrad was one of the best, a survivor of an otherwise doomed force in the last war, and his presence on the battlefield this time around would be beneficial and inspirational to many of the men. He was the Great Demon Kingdom's best swordsman; Yuuri imagined there were very few in the world who could stand against him with the hope of defeating him.

But it would be strange to have his godfather gone, to sit back in the relative safety of the castle and give orders while Conrad was fighting and shedding his blood for the kingdom. What's more, it would give him a greater cause to worry. What if Conrad was hurt? What if this time the battle ended up being too much for him, and he never returned? What would Yuuri do if he never saw Conrad again?

"I'm going too," a voice said before Yuuri could try to convince Conrad to stay, and all eyes turned to Wolfram.

In his worry for his godfather, Yuuri hadn't noticed that his husband had released his hold on his hand. He looked to his left to see that Wolfram had stood from his chair, arms by his sides and hands balled into fists as if he expected he was going to have to put up a fight. His stance was impassive and his expression was straight and unwavering, but Yuuri could see the confliction in his eyes. Wolfram was afraid of the war, fearing their chances, but he wasn't going to admit it.

"I don't think that's very wise, Your Majesty," Gunter was the first to speak after Wolfram's sudden declaration, and Yuuri took a moment to observe everyone's reactions.

Lady Celi looked stricken; it would be hard enough for her to see Conrad off to war after what had happened before, when she could have easily stopped it. Having her youngest leave now after he'd already been through so much in the span of a few months would hardly ease the worry in her heart. Conrad himself looked shocked, and was obviously ready to argue as soon as he had the chance. Gunter, Murata, Anissina and Yozak didn't seem as surprised, but their expressions showed their dislike for the idea. Only Gwendal appeared infuriated, his frown deep and his eyes narrowed darkly.

"I don't care," Wolfram professed, his voice stronger than it had been before. "I'm the one responsible for sending us to war. I intend to fight as well."

Yuuri could hardly think. It had been difficult to keep up with everything before, now his mind seemed to stop functioning all together. His only thought was of Wolfram, pale and scared before their escaped prisoner, or broken and bloody beneath him.

"Wolf…" Lady Celi tried to express her concern. "You shouldn't-"

She was cut off by her oldest son, whose deep, low voice showed how angered he was by Wolfram's defiance. "There is no way I would allow you to do something so foolish. You have already been put in danger here at the castle; you would be in even more danger on the front!"

Yuuri heard what they were saying, but he couldn't make himself react on it. He sat there, his heart pounding in his chest as blood-soaked images continued to flash before his eyes - corpses in the street, homes on fire, Greta crying, Wolfram screaming…

"I don't care what you have to say about the matter, Gwendal," Wolfram shot back, calling him by his name again instead of by the admiring terms of his youth. "_I_ am no longer below you; _I_ don't take commands from you anymore. You've already done enough by forcing me to sign the Declaration. I won't let you force me to stay here when I should be out there fighting!"

"You're the Prince Consort, von Bielefeld," Murata calmly interrupted his ranting. "It's simply not a good idea. This is a very precarious situation."

"I'm a trained solder!" Wolfram shouted. "I know what I'm doing!"

"You have never fought in a war, Wolfram! You have no _idea_ what you're doing or what kind of a situation you'd be thrusting yourself into!" Gwendal bellowed, not rising to his feet just yet, but his hands were fisted tightly against the top of the table.

"I don't care if you don't approve of my decision! This is something I _have_ to do!"

"Wolfram…" Conrad called, begging him to see reason, to understand their concern and rethink his desire to fight.

"I'm going with you and that's final!"

"No, you're not," Yuuri finally found his ability to speak. His words were said quietly, but they still managed to attract their attention, and he found all eyes turned to him instead of his adamant husband. He could understand the necessity of having Conrad on the battlefield, and though he'd rather his godfather stay behind, he knew he'd be doing more harm than good if he were to make him stay. But Wolfram had no purpose risking his life and putting himself in danger; Wolfram was the one person Yuuri couldn't allow to fight for him.

"What did you say?" Green eyes were looking at him now, narrowed and sparkling with a fire Yuuri hadn't seen in them in weeks.

"I said you're not going. You're staying here," he reiterated, then slowly stood to his feet behind his desk. "_I'll_ go."

"What?!"

"Shibuya…"

"This is absurd!" Gwendal was standing now as well, though he was slightly hunched over due to the pain caused to him by his injuries. "If I won't allow Wolfram to go, what makes you think I'd allow you to do the same?!"

"I'm not asking you to allow me to do anything," Yuuri told him, undisturbed by the shouting and calm in the face of his decision. "I'm telling you that I'm going. I am the King and these are my people."

To be honest, he hadn't thought much about it; the decision to go in Wolfram's place had been instinctive. They both bore a responsibility for what was going on within the kingdom, and while Wolfram had as much right to fight as anyone, Yuuri couldn't allow him to. Not after all of his dreams, not after Wolfram had been attacked, not when the man who'd hurt him was still out there. For months now, Yuuri had been making a series of decisions that had turned out to be the wrong ones, but now - with this act - he felt as if he were finally making the _right_ one.

It was true that he had even less experience than Wolfram. His combat training was minimal, his knowledge of defensive and offensive tactics was minuscule at best, his skills with a sword were growing but still not up to par, and his magic was often sporadic and uncontrolled. He could easily see the dangers in going to the battlefield, and he could understand the unwillingness to let him go - he was not a soldier; he was just a boy.

He knew the risks. He could be injured, captured, or killed. Placing himself in front of his enemies in a situation like this would be the most dangerous thing he'd ever done, but it was also right. This was his country, his war, his men, and he should fight with them.

"You being the King is precisely why you must remain here!" Gwendal continued. "The moment the enemy sees you, they'll strike you down in seconds."

"It's suicide!" Wolfram exclaimed.

"And it would be no different for you!" Yuuri shouted back, ignoring Gwendal's concern and turning to the youngest brother instead. "I'm not the one they were attacking, Wolf! They went after you!"

"Only because they were trying to get to _you_!"

"You really expect me to believe that you'll be able to fight if you come across Ilyich again?!"

That struck a cord. Wolfram face went red, angry that Yuuri would use his weaknesses against him, and embarrassed that he'd brought up the topic of his fear in front of all of these people. His hands shook by his sides and his jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed.

"Have you gone mad?" he asked, his voice lowering from a shout into something that was much more dangerous. His entire body trembled once before he was able to control his reactions and still himself.

"No, I haven't," Yuuri stopped shouting as well, meeting Wolfram's gaze without backing down. Before they'd gotten married, before Wolfram had been harmed, he probably would have bent to his anger and allowed him to do as he wished, but the attack had changed things, and the war had made Yuuri realize all the more where his responsibilities lied. "I'm doing this, Wolfram. I've been practicing my swordsmanship with Conrad for years; I can at least defend myself."

"Then I'll go with you."

"No." Yuuri shook his head and made himself sound as firm as he possibly could. In this argument, he was going to win; he was going to make Wolfram bend to _his_ will. "You will stay here and take care of things while I'm gone."

He felt a sense of power he'd rarely experienced before. Normally he didn't use his position as King to have things go the way he wanted them to; it wasn't fair for him to use his authority to subdue others, and that wasn't the sort of king he wanted to be. Now he was learning that there were instances when abusing his power and authority was necessary to protect others.

"I will not," Wolfram denied him, and his next reaction felt more natural to Yuuri than any other.

"Wolfram… that's an order."

The color in Wolfram's face darkened, but his eyes widened instead of narrowing more and his lips parted in shock. "What?" he asked, flabbergasted, his voice small.

Yuuri straightened to his full height, which was nearly a full head taller now thanks to his human aging. He knew he could look imposing now that he'd grown, when his eyes grew sharp and the set of his jaw became firm. He was proud of his growth, of his more adult strength, and he used that to his advantage in facing Wolfram down. Slowly he was learning and beginning to realize that the more he asserted himself, the more he called up the courage and determination he'd thought left only to his other half, the more likely the others were to listen to him.

"We may be married now but I still outrank you. I outrank all of you," he reminded them, looking around at his friends, letting his gaze rest on each of them for a few moments, before returning to Wolfram. "And I'm telling you that I'm going."

"Shibuya, that really isn't a good idea," Murata tried, though Yuuri could tell that he wouldn't pose as much of a hindrance as the others. "You're needed here."

"Wolfram can take care of things here in my place. You only need one of us."

"Your Majesty, forgive me," Gunter began, flustered by Yuuri's behavior, "but I must protest. The situation is too dangerous. Even if you were to go in disguise, there would be no guarantee for your safety. Word would spread that you've gone."

"Cimaron and Isidore would hunt you down if they knew," Yozak added.

"I'm not going in disguise," Yuuri informed them before they could even begin to formulate some ploy to confuse their enemy forces, "and I'm well aware of the danger. I know what I'm doing."

"It would serve to boost our own morale if our men were to see His Majesty among them," Anissina was the first to come to his defense, and Yuuri nodded to show his appreciation.

"Yuuri," Conrad called him by name, moving away from his place by the wall to step closer. "I understand that you wish to help our people, but it's too much of a risk. Any number of things could happen." He paused and frowned. "I won't be able to be by your side to protect you as I am here."

"I know that," he said, fully aware that he wouldn't be able to depend on Conrad for protection when he was busy leading the men.

"You do realize that we are at war," Gwendal broke in again. "This isn't a joke, Your Majesty, nor is it a game, as you seem to think so many things are. Do not think this is the same kind of situation as some that we've faced before. Your talk of peace will do _nothing_ but get you killed."

Yuuri frowned, but it was more sad this time than anything else. "I know that."

"People will die!" Wolfram cried, causing Yuuri's sights to return to him. His anger was still present, but it was slowly fading in the face of worry and fear. "You won't be able to save everyone! And knocking the enemy unconscious isn't going to work the way it did before! If you fight, you'll have to kill!"

Black eyes closed as the whispers of _'Murderer'_ echoed within his mind, and he shook them out as best as he could. "I'll go to the medical unit and help Gisela," he said, figuring that would be safer, less of a cause for concern for his advisers, and more in tune with his morals. "I'll do whatever I can to save as many people as possible until this war is over."

Gwendal hardly seemed mollified. "If you think that will be any easier or any less dangerous, you're more of a fool than I thought you were."

"Ever since I got here, I've had all of you hounding me to be a good king!" Yuuri raised his voice into a yell, glaring at his Chief Adviser as darkly as Gwendal was glaring at him, slamming one of his fists against the surface of his desk. "If you really want me to be a good king then _let me_, damn it! I might have run away before but I'm not now, and I'm not going to let you force me to stay here!"

"But you'll force me?"

Yuuri stopped shouting at the sound of Wolfram's voice, small and lost and filled with emotion. His friend's breathing had gone slightly irregular, and the color had drained from his face, going from red to white. His hands shook, though now it wasn't from anger, but an emotion Yuuri could see very clearly in his eyes. He was feeling deceived, betrayed by Yuuri's hypocritical decision to rush into danger while keeping him behind.

"Wolfram…" he tried, wanting to make him understand, to make him see things the way he did, but his husband was already backing away.

Without another word, Wolfram turned and fled the room, slamming the door shut behind him so that it made the windows rattle and shook the framed map on the wall. Yuuri flinched but didn't allow the outburst to deter him. He waited a few moments, taking a few breaths to keep his own anger and frustrations from surging forth, then stepped out from behind his desk to make his way for the door as well.

"Excuse me," he said to the others, fully intending on coming back to continue his battle with them, but knowing that if he didn't have it out with Wolfram right away, the animosity would only linger and cause yet another rift between them.

"Your Majesty, let me talk to him," Lady Celi offered, standing from her chair to intervene.

"No," he said, with enough force to have her stopping in her tracks. "I'll do it."

He left before any of them could stop him, though it seemed some of them wouldn't have risen to do so. He closed to door more carefully than Wolfram had, but still firmly enough to signal that none of them were to follow him, but instead to remain where they were and continue their discussion and plans amongst themselves. He would return as soon as he'd solved the current situation, and then he would make sure that each of them knew to take his desires seriously. None of them - not Conrad or Gunter or Gwendal - were going to change his mind now that his decision had been made.

Wolfram hadn't yet made it very far down the hall, and Yuuri watched as he turned a corner and went out of sight. He followed him, taking quick steps so as the shorten the distance between them, turning onto the same hall and easily coming up behind him. When Wolfram noticed that he was being followed, he broke out into a run, and Yuuri had to react quickly so as not to lose him. He reached out for him, grabbing onto his upper arm and pulling him back.

"Wolfram, listen to me," he began, though he didn't expect that his friend would let go of his feelings right away.

"Let go of my arm," he demanded, attempting to yank it away on his own and turning to glare up at him.

"Not until you listen." Yuuri shook him once, knocking as much of the fight out of him as he could, before shoving at him until Wolfram's back was against the wall, keeping his hand on his arm and lifting the other to take hold of the opposite side.

Wolfram lifted his hands to shove him away, twisting his body to try and loosen his grip and slip out from between he and the wall, but Yuuri held him in place tightly, ignoring the startled looks they were receiving from the guards. None of them would stop him, he knew, however concerned they might be.

"Listen to me!" he said again, louder. He didn't like to restrain his friend, knowing that the last time he'd been restrained had been traumatic for him, but he needed to make him listen, he needed him to calm down and talk to him instead of shouting and arguing.

"_I'm_ the soldier!" Wolfram spat, smacking at his chest with both of his hands, but unable to do much more than that. "I should be the one going! I have more experience than you! You'll just end up getting hurt - or worse, killed!"

"I'm not going to die!" Yuuri shouted over him, tired of those around him prophesizing his death. Lyron seemed convinced that he'd be dead by the end of this war, and his advisers and friends were worrying themselves over his safety, as if he was going to drop dead at a moment's notice, but it was his life and he was in charge of it. He wasn't going to be taken down that easily.

Within moments, all of the fight Wolfram had been exuding before seemed to fade out of him. He sagged against the wall, held up by weakened legs and Yuuri's grip on his arms, his head bowing foreword as his breathing came in quick, short gasps.

Wolfram's moods had been erratic before, and had only grown more wild during the fallout of the attack, so while the shift may be sudden Yuuri wasn't surprised by it. His real feelings were beginning to show through his anger, the worry and fear Yuuri had known had been the true cause of his behavior. Wolfram worried for him the same as all the others did, only moreso, as his need of him was greater.

"I'm not going to die," he repeated, softer now that Wolfram's frenzied state was abating. He leaned closer to him, lowering his head to be able to whisper comfortingly in his ear. "When we got married, I made a vow to protect you, didn't I? But so far, ever since I first came here, it's been _you_ protecting _me_."

And he was in danger now because of it. If Wolfram had continued to react upon his initial hatred, the distrust he'd felt for him when they'd first met, they never would have grown so close, and no one would have ever thought to use him against him. Wolfram's love and dedication was his greatest weakness, and the one most difficult for him to ignore. Yuuri didn't want to give anyone the chance to use that love to their advantage again. It was for him alone - not anyone else.

"I think it's about time that I take on that job, too," he continued, loosening his hold on Wolfram's arms, only to slide his hands up and down them in a comforting motion, softly talking him into submission. "If I have to pull rank to keep you here and out of harm's way, then I will. I want you to stay where I know you'll be safe."

Or safe enough. It had already been proven to him that Blood Pledge Castle wasn't as impregnable as they all would like, and the danger here had increased dramatically. Even knowing that, Wolfram would fair better here with the others watching over him than he would heedlessly rushing into battle. He knew Wolfram; he knew what to expect from him if he were to let him mount his horse and take off to war. He may be more skilled, but he'd endanger himself far more than Yuuri would, trying to take on too much at once.

Blond hair brushed against the side of his face as Wolfram shook his head to disagree. "You're more important than I am," he said, voice quiet and tight with emotion.

Gently, Yuuri kissed the side of his face, letting out a sigh against the softness of his skin. "Not to me."

The husband he'd spent so much time denying, and equal time pushing away, lifted his eyes to look up at him, helpless in the face of so much tenderness. He raised his hands again, but this time it was not to attempt to push Yuuri away. Instead, he pulled him closer, gripping at his shoulders and pressing their bodies together with a sharp intake of breath that bordered on a sob. His eyes remained dry, but his expression was tortured, torn between his duty to place himself between Yuuri and danger, and his need for Yuuri's love.

They stared at one another, looking into each others eyes and conveying as much as they could with their respective gazes, before simply staring became not enough for Wolfram and he leaned foreword to press their lips together. The contact wasn't gentle, as it had been so often recently, but hard and demanding, passionate, the way it had been when Yuuri had come back from Earth. Wolfram pressed himself as close as he could possibly be, his hands sliding from his shoulders so that his arms wrapped tightly around his neck, keeping him from pulling away. Yuuri hardly thought of breaking the contact, wanting it more now than he could have ever thought he would before.

His hands grasped at the blond, pulling him even closer, one arm locking into place around his waist, preventing him from pulling back as much as Wolfram was preventing him from doing the same. His other hand molded around the side of his neck, then traveled up to cup his jaw as his lips sought out Wolfram's over and over again. Not a thought crossed his mind aside from how right it felt to be like this, how much he wanted to kiss him, to hold him and never let go, to protect him and keep everyone else away from him, so that he may never know fear again.

It was instinctive, this need of his to keep him, to have him in a way that no other could, and it originated deep within him in a place that he couldn't pinpoint. It made his heart pound and his blood run hot, and his entire being ached to _do_ something, to ease the need and pressure, but he didn't know what. He'd only felt this way once before - the last time he and Wolfram had kissed with such eagerness.

Eventually, his hand went from Wolfram's jaw into his hair, pulling his head into a better angle as their kisses grew in intensity. It was becoming too much, his body pressing Wolfram's back into the wall as he groaned against his mouth, wanting and inexperienced at the same time. It didn't help that Wolfram hung yielding in his embrace, just as fervent and desirous, but even less ready for more. There were still too many things between them, too much getting in the way, before they could allow themselves to fall into their desires like this.

It was Wolfram who broke the kiss, just as suddenly as he'd begun it, turning his head to pry his mouth away from Yuuri's, breathing heavily to calm himself. Yuuri could feel both their hearts racing, pressed chest to chest as they were, so he knew that Wolfram was experiencing similar sensations. When he looked into his eyes again, however, Yuuri caught the flicker of doubt, and it was enough to have him coming back to himself and returning to his senses.

Now was not the time or place for this, for whatever their relationship was leading to.

Their arms remained locked around one another, but the desire ebbed away. Yuuri looked at Wolfram - at his lips, red and swollen from their many needy kisses - sliding his hand from his golden curls to softly caress a flushed cheek. Wolfram looked back at him, his hands returning to their previous place against his shoulders as they allowed some space between their bodies. Their passions cooled, transitioning from something heady and powerful into a more innocent fondness.

Wolfram's lips twitched into a small smile, but his brows furrowed slightly, making his expression look conflicted and pained. He leaned foreword to gently brush their noses together, then pressed one of his warm cheeks to Yuuri's. "Promise me you'll come back," he said, leaving his anger behind and falling into acceptance.

Yuuri let out a sigh of relief, hugging Wolfram tightly again and burying his face into the side of his neck. He breathed in deeply, placing a small kiss against the sweaty skin above the collar of his jacket, before letting the air out slowly. "I promise."

And that was one promise Yuuri had every intention of keeping.

* * *

Looking into the mirror, Yuuri hardly even recognized himself. Freshly cut black hair no longer fell to irritate his eyes or brush the tops of his shoulders; instead, it was shorter than he could remember having it in a long time, easier to upkeep and more manageable for life on the battlefield. He thought it made his face look more narrow, and though the former regality Wolfram had said longer locks produced was gone, a different sort of maturity had come to take its place.

Conrad was helping him into his armor. The suit had been specially made for him nearly a year ago, but he hadn't ever thought he'd come to have a need for it. He'd merely agreed to it for the sake of formality and tradition and all those other things that made it necessary for a king to have his own suit of armor. He donned it now, every last piece - the pauldrons and breastplate, the gauntlets and greaves - with chainmail beneath it all and thick cloth garments under that.

It was heavier than he'd thought it would be, though now that he had it on he thought he should have expected so much metal to weigh so much. He imagined it was going to be difficult to move, and he was definitely going to need help mounting his horse. He would have felt more at ease if none of this was necessary, but if he was going to be going to the battlefield then his advisers wanted to take every available precaution, and a full suit of armor had been required. Once he grew used to it, it wouldn't be so bad, but for now he would have to suffer through.

At least he looked liked a king, or he thought he did - more so now than he ever had before. The armor gave him extra weight and made him look bigger than he was. It shone silver, with the Shibuya coat-of-arms - created on his sixteenth birthday - etched in gold on his breastplate. Two crowned lions stood perched, guarding a shield on which the sun rose before a pair of eagle's wings, all above a thin banner that contained his own royal motto: "to a valiant heart, nothing is impossible." Gunter had designed it, but Yuuri rather liked the look of it. He thought it suited him well enough.

He reminded himself of all the old kings whose painted likenesses adorned the royal portrait hall, tall and powerful and dressed to do battle with their enemies. Now all he needed was a mighty sword, which he would have by his side as soon as Conrad finished belting and snapping things into place. Morgif rested against the wall close by, moaning his approval for the fighting to come. Yuuri could only hope that he wouldn't come across a situation in which he'd have to use him, but it was agreed that the Demon Sword would accompany him for the added benefit that its reputation would bring.

"Gisela knows to expect me?" he asked, wanting to go over everything one more time, even if he'd been told the same thing for the last three days. Now that their time of departure was encroaching, he was becoming nervous.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Conrad patiently replied. "Although I can't promise she's very pleased by the idea of having you join the medical unit. She may be rather short with you when we arrive."

"I'll just have to prove to her that it'll be a good thing to have me there. I'm not going to get in the way."

He could understand the hesitance of his friends, even if he would only be helping with the wounded and not engaging in actual combat. Twenty-four years ago they'd all lost someone important to them by something as seemingly harmless as healing and first-aid. Julia had used too much of her powers in her efforts to save others, heedless of the warnings given to her by Gisela and the other medics. Yuuri had sworn that such a thing would not happen to him, and he'd made a promise to his husband to return unharmed.

There had been a reason for Julia's death, and she'd seen fit to go out in a way that would allow others to be healed and have a greater chance of living. Yuuri, however, didn't intend to die any time soon; there were many more things he wanted to do for his kingdom before his life ended. He wouldn't stop working until peace had been restored.

"How does it feel?" Conrad asked, disrupting his thoughts and standing back to look him over.

"Heavy," Yuuri replied, lifting one arm and then the other, before lowering them again and taking a few experimental steps. "But I'll get used to it. I'm not the only one who has to wear all this, so I won't complain."

If his soldiers could deal with the weight and the stifling heat, then so could he.

Conrad smiled, and though he was worried, the light of pride entered his eyes. "I believe Anissina was right. The risks are numerous, but the relief our men will feel to see you among them will bring a positive air to our forces. I don't believe there are many people still alive who remember the last time a Demon King rode among his own soldiers."

"I'm not like most kings, am I?"

"No, and we're better off for it. You've become a greater king than I could have hoped for, Yuuri."

Yuuri swelled at Conrad's praise, feeling his confidence increase by the minute. If someone like Conrad believed in him, then he must be doing better than he'd thought. Conrad was the sort of man he'd always aspired to be - strong and kind, with a noble heart.

He smiled back at his godfather, standing straight with his head held high. "Thanks, Conrad." There weren't many opinions he valued more than his.

Of course, when he looked back into the mirror to make sure he wasn't missing anything, his eyes caught sight of the young man whose opinion he valued above all others, even Conrad's, for it was he whose trust was hardest to gain and harder still to keep.

Wolfram stood some distance behind him, swathed in black and gold from head to toe, a bit of white lace peaking out from beneath the sleeves of his jacket, and fastened along his collar with a thin, decorative chain. His crown of diamonds, sapphires and pearls rested atop his head, dressed formally for the ceremonial departure of the King from the castle. But the presence of his crown served yet another purpose, so that all those remaining would know that it was he who was in charge until the King returned.

He had his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face, a sign that he still didn't agree with Yuuri's decision and was only allowing him to go because he'd been made to back down, but even Yuuri could see the approval in his eyes. Wolfram kept looking him up and down, examining parts of his armor from his spot behind him, and nodding every time Conrad put another piece in place. Yuuri smiled at him through the looking-glass, before turning around to face him fully.

"Well?" he began, waiting for his opinionated husband to pass judgment. "How do I look?"

"Like a king," Wolfram said with hardly a thought, dropping his arms to his sides before moving to grab a length of black fabric, carrying it with him as he approached. Shaking it out, he slung the dark cape over Yuuri's shoulders, then carefully fastened it into place.

Conrad smiled at them, then slowly backed away. "I'll give the two of you a moment. We'll be leaving shortly," he said, then headed for the door to make his way out, closing it behind him to offer them some privacy.

Yuuri waited until his godfather had gone before lifting his gloved hands to Wolfram's shoulders, looking at him carefully. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked. He did feel guilty for pulling rank to force him to stay behind, and then even more for leaving him when he knew how much Wolfram had calmed after the attack due to his presence. He worried that once he went away again, Wolfram would find it difficult to sleep once more, and that his health might suffer for it. He was already pale enough, and he'd grown thinner in the last few months.

"I'll be fine," Wolfram replied with a straight face, hiding his emotions - or at least attempting to. "I'm not the one being reckless and going off to war."

"You would be if you had it your way," Yuuri pointed out, moving one hand to the side of Wolfram's face to have him looking up at him. "I'm going to be okay; you'll see. I promised you I'd come back, didn't I?"

"Promises are easy to make."

Yuuri frowned at him sadly, not wanting him to worry about him the entire time he was away. He had enough to worry about as it was. "I swear to you that I'll come back. I'm not going to leave you for long," he promised him again, forcing a small smile onto his face. "And when this is over and the kingdom's at peace again, you and I are going to go on a vacation."

Wolfram snorted, but the idea of going somewhere alone with him seemed to please him, and the smallest of smiles caused his lips to curve up at the corners. "Now you're bribing me with the promise of vacations?"

"We never did go on our honeymoon," he pointed out with a cheeky grin. He hadn't cared to go on one at the time of their marriage, but after all the stress they'd been going through in recent weeks, he certainly wouldn't mind going away once the danger had passed. Some time alone together might even do them some good.

"Where would you take me?"

Yuuri shrugged, having not thought that far, though he was sure he could come up with something to strike Wolfram's fancy. "We can go to Earth, someplace warm and tropical. Or Paris. It's supposed to be the most romantic city in the world."

"Now you're plotting romance?" Wolfram questioned him, looking quite surprised with his golden brows arched in curiosity.

Yuuri laughed at the look he was receiving, and lifted his other hand to cup both sides of Wolfram's face. "Only if you want it." Initially he'd simply thought of Paris because he figured there might be a lot of things to intrigue Wolfram there, palaces and churches and museums for the both of them to explore, but the romantic aspect of it might not be so bad. He wouldn't mind walking down the Parisian streets with him, or eating crepes atop the Eiffel Tower.

Wolfram didn't seem too averse to the idea either, though he said nothing further about it. Yuuri could tell he was at least allowing the thought to flourish in his mind, by both his soft smile and the pink flush that filled his otherwise pale cheeks.

"We'll talk more about that when I get back," Yuuri told him, giving him more cause to look foreword to his return.

He'd have liked to kiss him, but the heavy armor made it awkward to bend even the slight amount to reach the level of his lips. Luckily, Wolfram seemed to read the desire in his eyes, and with his hands on his shoulders to support himself, he lifted himself to the tips of his toes as he had at their wedding and brushed their lips together.

Yuuri enjoyed how natural it felt to do this now, how easy it was for him to kiss the boy he'd previously feared developing an attraction for. Not too long ago he'd shied away from the commitment; now he relished in it. It gave him more to live for than he'd had before - a reason to fight and live and look foreword to the next day. If this was what Wolfram had always felt for him, then he could understand the need to be close, the desire to protect and possess and care for.

He kissed him back, softly at first, before pressing against his lips more firmly, keeping his hands where they were on the sides of his face. He kept his eyes open, gazing at Wolfram and basking in his proximity, feeling the heat of his body, close but not fully touching. Wolfram looked back at him, smiling against the pressure of his mouth, before long, dark gold lashes descended over the green of his eyes.

They remained closed for only a few moments, fluttering open again when Yuuri parted his lips and curiously slipped his tongue out to tease along the crease of Wolfram's mouth. He'd seen people kiss like this in the movies, heard boys talk about their experiences with girls while changing in the locker rooms, and he thought to try it himself. With their relationship growing in ways he'd never thought possible between he and the other young man, and with their separation now immanent - for who knew how long - he thought it might be a welcome, if not memorable, good-bye kiss.

Wolfram appeared uncertain, and broke the contact of their mouths to pull away a scant few inches to look at him in confusion, but when Yuuri crossed the distance and prodded him again, the Demon prince relented. His lips parted and their tongues met, softly, timidly. It was unhurried, as chaste as they could make it, and a little more awkward than Yuuri had hoped it would be, but it sent a tingle down his spine and had his heart racing in seconds.

It lasted for only a few moments, before Yuuri was retracting his tongue and kissing him normally again. Their lips met one more time, then he pulled away, keeping his hands in place but allowing Wolfram to have some space if he needed it. He could feel the warmth in his own cheeks, and knew he was as flushed as his breathless companion.

"Take care of yourself," he said, not wanting to have to worry about him while he was away. The whole point of keeping him here was for him to be safe and protected, and he'd like to think that nothing would happen to jeopardize his safety while the battle was being fought elsewhere.

Wolfram nodded, his voice soft once he found the ability to respond to him. "I will."

Their eyes met and locked together, and feelings Yuuri couldn't identify passed silently between them. He had to force himself to let go, fondly kissing Wolfram's forehead before releasing his face and taking a step back. Wolfram's hands slipped from his shoulders, and he moved to take Morgif from where he leaned against the wall, helping Yuuri strap him by his left hip.

"Alright. You're ready."

Yuuri nodded, though now that the time had come, he didn't think he was ready at all. He was absolutely terrified of what he was about to go into, but he wasn't going to tell Wolfram that. His husband would only say "I told you so" and make him stay behind, and then he'd never prove to anyone - not to his advisers or his enemies - that they were wrong about him, that he wasn't weak or scared or incapable. He wanted to show the world that he wasn't just some innocent, peace-loving little boy; he could be more than that. He could be a proper king, too.

Taking Wolfram's hand to comfort himself as he began to leave the castle for what could end up being months, Yuuri left his room to join Conrad in the hallway. His godfather was wearing his own armor, though he looked infinitely more comfortable in it than Yuuri felt, and he seemed ready to ride out and join the fray, like fighting and warfare were second nature for him.

"Are you sure about this, Yuuri?" Conrad asked him a final time, giving him one last way out.

But Yuuri didn't want it, and he wasn't going to take it. "As sure as I'll ever be."

People were going to be hurt, and others were going to die. There was going to be blood and tears and loss, and he was going to have to find some way to cope with it. He didn't have to do this, he knew that well enough, but if he didn't then how would he ever be able to say he'd done his best, that he'd done all he could for his people?

Together they made their way down the hall, with Conrad in the lead and Wolfram holding his hand. His grip was tight, as if he could keep him there if he just continued to hold on, and Yuuri squeezed back, knowing that for the foreseeable future he'd be without Wolfram's comfort and encouragement. He'd have to make it through his troubles on his own.

The guards lined the halls, standing straight with their hands raised in reverent salutes. A few wished him luck, a few more said things he recognized from Earthen monarchies: "Long live the King." Yuuri nodded his head to them in thanks and acknowledgment, but he didn't smile. His typical grins had no place in this moment. He didn't want his people to think of him as a grinning youth as he left for battle, but as a strong man, the sort of king they could all be proud of.

The unit of soldiers they were leaving with were gathered at the front of the castle grounds, lined up in rows before the gates to begin their journey through the capital and head out in to the country. Some of them would be accompanying him to the medical unit, to aid the healers and serve as protection, while the rest would be going with Conrad and Yozak to join the soldiers already stationed at the border. They had their own armor; some of the men looked more seasoned than others, but they were all putting on their bravest faces.

Gunter sat in the lead, looking resplendent in white cloth and silver armor. Sworn never to kill again or shed the blood of another soldier, Gunter had originally intended to stay behind and see to things at the castle, but when Yuuri had chosen to go and prevented his advisers from changing his mind, Gunter had stepped foreword to join him. His tutor would be his only source of comfort in the long days ahead, his only tie to the safer, less gruesome life he was leaving behind.

His closest friends were standing together, waiting to view his departure. As he, Conrad, and Wolfram approached them, Yuuri released Wolfram's hand and ushered him over to his mother and Greta, knowing that they would fair better in reassuring him and taking care of him than all the others. Murata was the first to come foreword and gave him a mocking salute, seeming to find his current appearance slightly amusing.

"I still don't think this is a very good idea," his black haired friend told him, but he had a smile on his face nonetheless, and he took Yuuri's hand into a firm grip of farewell.

"You could have come with me," Yuuri offered, though he was glad for once that Murata wouldn't be around. Murata's skills were even less notable than his own. The Sage's power lied primarily in his mind, not in his sword arm.

Murata laughed and his glasses shined in the sunlight. "I have to stay and help von Bielefeld. And I think I'd only cause more stress for the guards and soldiers if I were to go. I'm a strategist, not a warrior."

Yuuri couldn't argue with that, and let go of his hand to say his goodbyes to the others. Anissina stepped foreword with Alexei at her side, seeming to have already taken the child under her wing despite he being adopted by Gwendal.

"Don't worry about anything here," she said. "We have everything covered."

"I know you do. Make sure you keep Gwendal on his toes."

She smirked and cackled softly. "Always."

Alexei looked up at him nervously, and Yuuri found a smile for the little boy, reaching out to ruffle his hair, hoping it was affectionate enough and didn't serve to frighten him. "I'm charging you with the task of protecting Greta. Can you do that for me?" he asked him, knowing he adored Greta and thinking that giving him something to do - or the illusion of importance - might help him feel included.

Alexei looked from him to Anissina, as if seeking some sort of approval, and when she smiled and nodded at him, he managed to speak to Yuuri with a bit more confidence than he usually expressed. "Yes, sir!"

Greta came to him next, taking his mention of her as her cue to shower him with love and affection. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and hugged him, before turning her head to place a kiss on his cheek. "Come back soon. I miss you already."

"Make sure you keep up with your studies," he reminded her, though he knew he really didn't have to worry. "I'm going to miss you, too. I'll write to you." He couldn't say how frequently that would be, but he at least wanted to send some word of his wellbeing and receive a response from her in return.

Lady Celi joined his daughter in hugging him, and for once Yuuri wasn't made uncomfortable by it, for instead of holding him to her chest and forcing his head to her bosom, she held him like a normal mother would hold a son. "Please, be careful, Your Majesty. I'd be so sad if anything were to happen. And if you find that you're ever in need of anything, send a message to Wolfgang. I'm sure he'll come to your aid as soon as he can."

Yuuri couldn't be completely sure about Wolfram's father seeing as he knew so little about him, and neither Conrad nor Wolfram himself spoke well of him, but there was something about the man he had to like, something in his very demeanor that inspired a certain level of trust. He'd never tell Wolfram for fear that he'd misunderstand, knowing his husband was extra sensitive on the subject of his absent father, but he was sure that Lady Celi's assurances were true.

"Thank you, Lady Celi," he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Take care of Wolfram. Make sure he gets some rest, and that he's eating right." That probably went without saying considering she was Wolfram's mother, and though she often seemed flighty she was at least on top of things when it came to her three sons.

He released both Greta and Lady Celi, letting them say their goodbyes to Conrad as well, and turned to Gwendal. The older man looked the same as always, sullen and foul-tempered, and though he knew Gwendal would probably never agree with his decision - and if he did he would never admit it - he hoped he was at least proud of him in some way. Wasn't this what Gwendal had wanted in the beginning? For him to actively combat their enemies and protect their country from those who would harm it? Wasn't that what Gwendal would do if his life laid once again in the military, and not in politics?

"I'm trusting you to handle things here while I'm away," he told his Chief Adviser, speaking to him seriously, as a man to another man instead of as a boy. "Wolfram can do just fine on his own, but he'll need advisers like I do."

"Not that either of you ever listen to a thing I say," Gwendal grumbled in response.

Yuuri managed a chuckle. "We listen, we just choose to ignore it most of the time."

He watched his frown deepen, his brow twitching slightly, but Conrad intervened before any more words could be exchanged. "It's time," he said, as another soldier led Ao over to them.

Taking a deep breath to center himself, wanting to keep his composed and confident façade, Yuuri nodded and backed away. He looked over his friends and family, burning the image of them into his mind to call up in the future, knowing he was going to need his memories of them to sustain him. "I'll see you all again soon," he added to the parting words he'd spoken to each of them.

Turning to mount his horse, he was stopped by a hand on his arm, and looked to see that Wolfram had stepped away from the others. He wore the same composed façade as Yuuri, but his eyes could once again be depended upon to reveal the emotions behind it. Anguish and despair swirled within them, as his anger from a few days before had been mostly defeated.

Yuuri paused and opened his arms to him, and Wolfram moved quickly into them for one last embrace. "I love you," he murmured, squeezing him so tightly Yuuri could hardly breathe.

Closing his eyes, Yuuri allowed himself a moment of indecision, but after a breath it was gone. He could easily change his mind right now and choose to remain here by Wolfram's side, but then he would be a coward, and he'd not have earned everything he'd ever been given. Lesser men would have chosen the easy way out; he wasn't going to do that anymore.

"I know," he replied, nuzzling against his hair, careful not to knock his crown askew.

A moment later he pulled back only to move in again, and this time he leaned down despite the awkwardness of the armor, and he pressed his lips against Wolfram's in a hard, desperate kiss. He didn't care that the soldiers could see, or that his friends and family were standing right there. All that mattered was that he showed Wolfram in whatever way he could that this wasn't like the last time he'd gone away. He wasn't running away from him because of some adolescent fear of commitment; he was doing this for him, so that he could protect him, and so that he would be worthy of him.

He let him go when he felt he'd gotten the message across sufficiently enough, and finally turned to begin his journey out. Someone handed him a helmet with a black plume, and he placed it carefully on his head. Conrad helped him mount Ao before allowing another soldier to help him onto his own horse, and together they took their reins and joined the other men waiting to leave and do their duty to the kingdom. They made their way through the throng to ride up front with Gunter, while Wolfram, Greta and the others remained where they were.

It was like transitioning from one world into the next - from one in which war seemed far away and imaginary, to one where it was present and irrefutable. The tension in the air was palpable, and Yuuri took a deep breath, as if he would never breathe in a peaceful world again.

"Are you ready, Your Majesty?" Gunter asked him.

Yuuri straightened in his saddle, and forced himself to keep from turning to glance behind. "I'm ready. Let's head out."

The gates opened and they urged their horses foreword, the air filling with the clopping noises of their hooves on the ground. The flags of the Great Demon Kingdom fluttered in the cool autumn breeze, red, white and blue, emblazoned with the mighty beast of their land, half-lion and half-sea creature - King of both land and sea. They descended the sloping road and entered the capital, where the citizens erupted into cheers.

He could look around and see the damage from the attack that had been staged on them by Isidore, and the number of casualties had been greater than Yuuri had hoped, but the people still applauded and supported their soldiers, throwing flowers and shouting their cries of good luck. Yuuri drank it all in, wanting their smiling faces and encouraging calls to take the place of the bloody images and accusing whispers that lingered in the back of his mind.

He never once looked back, for he knew that if he did his resolve would waver and he'd turn to retreat to what was familiar, instead of heading for what was unknown. Already his thoughts were focused on what was to come, but his heart remained behind - with his family, and with Wolfram.

* * *

There was a tongue in his mouth and hands roving over his skin, but it didn't feel right. The tongue was too demanding, forcing its way inside instead of coaxing him to respond, and the hands were rough and violent.

Wolfram opened his eyes to look upon the figure above him, and instead of seeing Yuuri, a crueler face filled his vision. Brown hair framed an unshaven jaw, with a scar across the nose, and dry lips twisted into a repulsive smirk. The eyes were brown and wild, looking down at him with a sick sort of desire instead of something he could pretend was love.

"_Hello, pet," _the man said, his dark expression and his offending hands making his vile intentions clear. _"Did you miss me?"_

Opening his mouth to scream, Wolfram sat upright in bed as he awoke from yet another nightmare, breathing heavily as his dream quickly faded away. His eyes were wide and his heart pounded, a cold sweat causing his nightgown to stick to him uncomfortably.

The room was dark. Thick clouds shielded the moon and stars outside, so very little light filtered in through the window. He lit a candle with the flick of his hand, using his magic so that the action was quicker, then looked around the room in a panic, seeking out anything that didn't belong there, only to see nothing. He was alone. There was no human impostor restraining Greta by the wall, and there was no malicious rapist climbing into his bed.

He jumped, startled, when the bedroom door opened, but it was only one of the guards. "Your Majesty, are you unharmed?" the soldier asked, hand by the hilt of his sword as he looked about the room as well.

"Yes," Wolfram forced out, though his throat felt tight and his hands were shaking. "Yes, I'm fine. It was only a dream."

The soldier looked around more for safe measure, before lowering his hand by his side. "Is there anything I can do for you, Your Majesty?"

This time Wolfram shook his head. "No, nothing. Return to your post."

It was bad enough that he'd woken screaming; he didn't want one of Gwendal's men fretting over him on top of it. Soon the entire castle would know that he was being plagued by nightmares, and he'd receive all those sad, pitying looks again.

His guard didn't seem reassured, but he nodded in acquiescence and went back into the hall to shut the door, leaving Wolfram to himself.

The Demon Prince raked a hand through his sweat dampened hair, breathing deeply and trying to stop the pounding in his chest. Laying back against the mattress and staring at the top of the canopy, his hands fisted the sheets beneath him, twisting and wrinkling the fabric as he let his panic run its course without any witnesses. He gasped for air, only he felt as if too little was making its way into his lungs, which burned and ached. His heart beat too fast and his mind spun, inundating him with frightening images of what could have been, a feeling of dread settling upon him. He grew dizzy and lightheaded, his stomach knotting and contorting as nausea brought bile into his throat.

He knew it had been nothing more than a dream, that nothing could harm him now, that one of his attackers was dead and the other was probably far away from here, but none of those thoughts soothed him. The fact remained that Ilyich was still alive and at large, still able to hurt him and the people he loved. He could come back at some point and finish what he started, or he could go after Yuuri, and there wasn't anything Wolfram could do to stop him.

He felt lost and out of control, neither of which he much enjoyed. Being lost meant he had no plan and no direction, and lacking control meant that any number of things could happen without his influence. He didn't like it, nor was he used to it. His failure to be able to control anything only caused his fear to grow stronger.

His state of panic lasted for at least half an hour, though he hardly noticed the time passing, too lost in the paralyzing terror. He continued to gaze up once it was over and he was able to breathe properly again, waiting for his body to finish settling. He trembled even when it ended, cold now that he'd come back to awareness. Wrapping himself within one of the blankets didn't ease the chill, and so once he was certain his legs were strong enough to support him, Wolfram slid from the bed to drop into a chair by the fire.

Yuuri had been gone for almost a week, and with his exodus had come the nightmares. He'd had one or two even when he'd been there, but never to the extent where he woke to such anxiety. It was as if he could sense him next to him even as he slept, and his presence chased away all of his inner demons. Now that he was gone, all of those demons were coming back with a vengeance. He hadn't had a single night of peaceful, undisturbed sleep once in the last seven days.

His self-hatred was quick to return as well. He loathed his inability to overcome this fear. Ilyich was not a threat to him anymore. He had sufficient protection, and the man's mission was done. There would be no way for him to fool Gwendal's guards even if he were to attempt another attack. He had probably returned to Isidore as soon as he'd escaped from the castle, or gone with his soldiers in black to ravage another village. If he was such an important man to Lyron, he wouldn't waste more of his time on a task that had proven unattainable.

Yet Wolfram could not stop dreaming.

He'd gone to bed earlier than usual that day, tired after long hours of paperwork and hoping his previous sleepless evenings would have exhausted him enough for him to at least have one night of restful repose. It couldn't have been more than a few hours since then and his hopes had already been dashed. There was no way he'd be able to return to sleep after that, not when he knew he'd only have to experience more of it once sleep finally claimed him. It was always the same; his only consolation was that he woke from it before it could reach a more undesirable outcome.

He felt sick and weak and not like himself. His appetite was suffering as much as his sleep schedule, and his moods were growing more variable as he settled into a life of near endless fatigue. He needed relief but didn't know how to attain it. His only solution was to have Yuuri by him, but Yuuri was off taking his place in the war, and he wouldn't see him again for who knew how long - weeks, months, perhaps never if the worst came to pass.

Wolfram was happy that Yuuri was taking his responsibilities seriously, that he was facing his problems confidently and doing something to protect his people instead of sitting back and relying on others to do it for him, but he would have rather gone in his stead. At least if he was on the battlefield he could distract himself from his memories by replacing them with the hardships in the present. He could have released his anger and hatred on their enemies in a raging fire instead of bottling it up inside and wondering when he'd burst. He could have done something to make up for his disgrace instead of sitting here and continuing to wallow in it.

But Yuuri had wanted to be the hero this time, Yuuri had wanted to protect him, and Wolfram could do nothing but sit back and let him.

Heaving a sigh, he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, before sagging in the chair and looking into the flames. He would be up for the rest of the night if he went on with this train of thought. He knew of very little to distract himself with, but if he didn't think of something he was going to end up collapsing tomorrow, and he wanted that even less than he wanted to suffer through his nightmares. He didn't need to give Gwendal another reason to be displeased with him and rethink his decision to entrust him with the kingdom's safety.

He debated with himself for a few moments, and when he could think of nothing else, Wolfram stood from his spot by the fire and removed the blanket from around his shoulders. He grabbed a bathrobe to replace it and slipped his arms into the long sleeves, tying the sash about his waist before shoving his feet into a pair of warm slippers. He waited until he'd opened the door before extinguishing the candle and letting the flames in the fireplace burn low, so that he would not be plunged into total darkness once again.

The guards standing outside his door looked at him in surprise when he crossed into the hall, and the one who'd burst in when he'd awakened returned his hand to his sword hilt. "Your Majesty, is there something wrong?" he asked in concern.

"No, there isn't anything to worry about. I'm just going to see my mother."

The two looked at one another as if confused as to why he'd wish to do something like that at such a late hour, but neither of them said anything to dissuade him, and he was making his way down the hall before they could say anything else.

His mother's room wasn't very far, so he didn't require an escort, though he knew every guard along the hall was watching him carefully. He paused to glance at the guards by Greta's door to make sure nothing was amiss on his daughter's end of the hall, before letting himself into his mother's sitting room. It was just as dark as his own room and been, but he didn't light the candles. Instead, he quickly moved to the other side where the door to her bedroom was closed, and he knocked on it rapidly.

She opened the door for him before he could grow too uneasy, appearing confused at first, wondering who would come by so late in the evening, but when she saw him she opened it wider and ushered him inside.

"What is it, Wolfram?" She was even more concerned than the guards had been, letting him have his space, though it was obvious that she longed to reach out for him and take him into her arms, to comfort him the way she had the night he'd been attacked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just can't sleep. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I only just got here. I was writing a letter to your father."

Wolfram frowned but said nothing in response. His father was not a subject he felt very comfortable discussing, with his mother or with anyone else. He knew his mother still corresponded with him even though their marriage had ended many years ago, but he'd never chosen to do the same. He'd not received one letter from his father in all the years that he'd been alive; he wasn't going to waste his time writing something that wouldn't receive a response.

"Come. Sit." She led him further into the room, having him sit in a chair at a small table, where she removed several pieces of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Then she left for a few moments and went through the darkened sitting room, only to return with a tray of tea.

She set the tray in front of him and prepared the tea herself, pouring it into each of the cups before adding the sugar and cream. Wolfram saw her mix another substance into his own and knew immediately what it was - a solution to help him sleep. He almost snapped at her for it, but he bit his tongue and held the reaction back. She was only doing it to help him; he was just going to have to suck up his pride and let her.

"Here," she said and handed him the tea, sitting down across from him and taking her own. "Why can't you sleep?" she asked then, though he was sure she could guess on her own.

"Nightmares," he answered shortly, not liking to admit it, but it was his mother and she'd been very tender with him since the cause of all his stress, moreso than he could remember her being since he'd been a small child. As he'd grown, she'd allowed him his independence and had mostly watched over him from the background. Now that he needed more than peripheral care, she was stepping up and being a mother again.

"What sort of nightmares?"

"What do you think?" She should be able to figure that out without having him expound upon it. There weren't many things that caused him to lose so much sleep.

She frowned, though not because his answer had been short and uninformative. She was merely growing more concerned. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Wolfram shook his head and took a sip of his tea, even if he knew what was in it. "There's nothing to talk about."

Now she was frowning at his response. "I'm sure you have plenty to say, you just don't want to admit to it. You're like your brothers; you think it makes you a lesser person to have doubts and fears."

He was inwardly amazed that she could be so perceptive, but he didn't show it on the outside. "I learned to hide my emotions from you," he pointed out. The only difference between them was that he hid his behind anger, and she hid her behind feigned happiness.

His statement had her pausing, and she fell silent momentarily, before changing the direction of the conversation, allowing him to keep his dreams to himself for the time being. "Gwendal received word from Conrart. His Majesty has made it safely to the main medical unit. Nothing came up to disrupt their journey."

"I don't want to talk about Yuuri either. I know he arrived, I read the dispatches earlier. Don't think that bringing him up is going to make me talk about our relationship."

His mother frowned again, setting her tea cup aside. "Then why did you come if you don't want to talk?"

Wolfram grew quiet, sipping at his tea some more and glancing down at the table, unable to meet her eyes. "Because I wanted to see you. I don't need to talk, Mother, not like you do. Sometimes I just want you here. I just want you with me." Just being with her was enough, like having Yuuri beside him was enough to dispel the nightmares. He didn't need conversation, he just needed to know that she was there for him if and when he needed her. He didn't like to be alone with his fears any more than he liked talking about them.

The answer satisfied her and she smiled, reaching across the table to take one of his hands into hers. "I'm always here, Wolfram. Maybe I wasn't before, and I'm sorry for that. I never realized that having me gone hurt you so much, though now I think I should have known. I can't make up for the past, but I can promise you that I'm here for you now, whenever you need me. You have no idea how much I love you, though I know that's my fault."

"I know, Mother," he told her, though he probably wouldn't ever express his feelings in the same way she did. The only person he'd ever said 'I love you' to in the last few years was Yuuri, and he would probably continue to be the only one who heard him say things like that for quite some time. But he didn't feel love for just a single person, despite what he'd said to his husband years ago when they'd gotten onto the topic of love. He loved many people; he simply had different ways of showing it.

She let him have his peace and silence, releasing his hand so that they could both finish drinking their tea. He began to feel warmer as he sat with her, though there was hardly any contact and very few words passed between them after that. He'd always cared for his mother, and he knew he was more attached to her than his two older brothers; it had been that way since he was a child. He'd thought that as he'd grown he'd come to need her less, but he'd quickly come to see the error in that. He needed her more now than he had before; it had just taken him a while to realize it.

He drank his tea slowly, letting the hot liquid warm him further, and allowing the herbs to lull him into calmness. He felt drowsy by the time he'd finished it, setting the cup back onto the tray. His mother noticed and stood to her feet, circling around the small table to come to his side and help him to his feet as well. "Sleep in here tonight," she said, brushing a hand through his hair.

His first thought was to argue and return to his room, but then he remember the cold, empty bed and the pervasive darkness. He looked at her bed, just as wide and comfortable as the one in Yuuri's room, and he looked around and saw nothing but warmth and light. He didn't know if it was his mother's presence or if it was the fact that nothing traumatizing had ever happened to him in this room, but he eventually decided that sleep would be easier to come by in here.

Wolfram let her take him to her bed, where he climbed up and settled onto the mattress, sliding under the sheets and blankets and laying his head upon one of her pillows. She tucked him in before getting into bed beside him, though instead of laying down she sat and gently fingered his hair. He closed his eyes and focused on the calming sensation, and he felt himself begin to drift.

"Mother?" he called to her as consciousness began to slip away.

Her fingers stilled in his hair for a second or two, before her previous motions continued. "Yes?"

He shifted closer, his mind taking him back to the days of his youth. "Do you think things will get better?"

There was silence at first, and he began to wonder if he'd already gone to sleep and therefore wouldn't receive an answer, but soon his mother replied, her voice soft and gentle. "Of course they will. When the worst has happened, there isn't any way to go but up."

Wolfram sighed and nodded, and then said nothing more.

Sleep did indeed come easier to him than it had in his and Yuuri's room, and instead of nightmares, his mind called up images of his husband, grinning and laughing and healing the world with his kind-hearted ways. Later he would wonder if the worst had really already happened or if there was still more to come, but for now he let himself bask in the happiness he'd find in the future he desired more than any other, when there would be no more worry or fear, and Yuuri would finally say the words he saw in his eyes every time they looked at each other.

"_I love you, Yuuri."_

"_I love you, too."_

**TBC…**


	20. Écrire

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and (starting now) sexual exploration/experimentation (successful and otherwise).

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Rating:** As of now, this fic will be rated M.

**A/N: **Chapter Fourteen was originally titled Écrire, but I'd forgotten that that was the title I'd wanted to use for _this_ chapter. I've gone in and changed Fourteen's title to Signer, which means 'to sign,' which leaves Chapter Twenty free to be called Écrire. I know, bad planning on my part. XD;

**A/N #2:** I felt like writing a mostly fluffy, interlude-ish type chapter before getting back to all the action. I hope you guys enjoy it! Also… I know I managed to respond to some of your reviews last time, but there were others I didn't get around to replying to. I'm sorry! But thank you all so much for your comments!

**A/N #3:** My beta advised me to once again remind everyone that this fic was started before Season Three was announced. As such, no characters from Season Three are found herein.

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty - Écrire - To Write**

Keeping his eyes averted from the present company, Wolfram listlessly pushed his food around on his plate, taking a few bites here and there but mostly destroying the delectable looking meal the cooks had arranged for him that evening. He made sure that none of the portions touched, because if he did end up eating some of it then he'd like for none of it to mix together - it would go against his sense of order - but for the most part he spent his time making a mess of what had formerly been a rather artistic presentation. On any other occasion, the cooks would have been commended for their skill; tonight Wolfram hardly noticed.

People had been coming and going in and out of the dining room for the last half hour. Meals that had once been shared by all highborn members within the castle were now taken whenever said members had the time to eat. Gwendal had taken his meal early and had excused himself soon after Wolfram had come in, and Mother was as of yet nowhere to be seen. It was a sad sight to see so few people around the large table, and the absence of a number of the members of his family only increased Wolfram's melancholy.

"And what of your modes of transportation? Cars, are they called? How do they work?"

The despondent prince made a face at the sound of Elizabeth's voice, not having to look up to know that she was currently preening in front of the Great Sage. He didn't know why their camaraderie bothered him so much, but he'd almost managed to convince himself it was because Elizabeth was - supposedly - his best friend and the Sage was a notorious womanizer - or lecherous enough that he sometimes insulted Wolfram's propriety. In actuality, it was more likely that he was jealous. There was Elizabeth, flirting and making eyes at someone while he was here alone and Yuuri was days away doing who knew what with who knew whom.

He knew exactly what the woman was doing, pretending she was interested in the Sage's home world and that she actually understood what he was talking about in order to ingratiate herself into his life and gain more of his attention. What he didn't know was if the Sage was fool enough to fall for it or if he knew what she was doing as well, and was then answering her questions and willingly falling into her trap because he was interested, too. Being cynical by nature and disturbed by the idea of Elizabeth developing a relationship - with the Great Sage of all people - while he was married but exceptionally lonely, Wolfram decided it was more likely that Ken Murata was an idiot, forgetting for the moment that he was the reincarnation of a supremely intelligent man with four-thousand years of experience under his belt.

He tried to ignore the exchange, hence the lack of eye contact and the mutilation of his dinner, but he'd come to realize that the things he was missing himself were often difficult to overlook in others. Why should they get to be happy in each others' company while he was left in longing? What made whatever supreme being who created the universe smile on them while his own happiness was neglected? And what made the Great Sage so special that Elizabeth would shower the man with her attention instead of giving it to _him_?

Never had he thought that he'd actually be jealous of Elizabeth's affections moving elsewhere, but here he sat, turning his dinner into mush because she'd hardly said a word to him since she'd entered the dining room, choosing instead to ask questions about a world she'd never seen and probably had no intention of ever visiting. He and Elizabeth annoyed one another just as much as they got along, and after the fiasco of four years ago when she'd tried to claim him from Yuuri he thought he'd be happy for her to move on and find someone else. That didn't mean he liked the disregard. She was still his friend, and he'd appreciate it if she actually showed some concern for him when he was facing hardships.

Not that she hadn't shown enough concern already. She'd stayed much longer after the wedding than she could have in order to make sure that things were going well enough for him, and she'd stood by him when Yuuri had run away to Earth a month and a half ago. She'd been absent for a while after that, but she had still returned, and if he was to believe what she said then she'd returned for his sake and not any other.

Of course, it was hard to see any truth in that when she was currently mooning over the Great Sage.

Sneering as talk turned to Earthen cars and how they were operated - none of which anyone around the table besides the Sage understood - Wolfram allowed his spork to fall with a clatter against his plate and snatched up his wine glass to take a few deep gulps. It was completely unfair the way the world worked. The last couple of weeks had been nearly unbearable, sitting in Yuuri's office with Gwendal looming over him, signing the paperwork that Yuuri should be looking over and wishing he could have a more active roll in the war. The temptation to leave now that Yuuri wasn't here to stop him from doing so was strong, but the compulsion was reined in and thwarted by his older brother, who made sure to keep him busy from sunrise until sunset.

Wolfram cared little for politics. Negotiations were difficult for him to engage in when he automatically thought the worst of everyone, and diplomacy had been little used in his childhood, so he lacked a familiarity with it. He was more used to acting in the present, of making a plan and sticking to it instead of allowing room for change and theorizing over a hundred and one possibilities. Where could Cimaron attack from? Where were they most vulnerable against Isidore? Was this action ethical? What would be the effect of this decision over all the others, and vice versa?

The stress and confusion and constant second-guessing was enough to make him rethink his youth. If he'd spent more time studying like Julia had wanted him to instead of demanding to be trained in combat, would these sorts of things come more naturally to him? If he'd listened to Yuuri and come to share his opinions and ideals sooner than he had, would he still question every single one of the decisions he made? Was his inability to understand a sign of his ignorance and lack of intellect in political matters? Or was he still being affected by the prejudices of his childhood?

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Pulling his mostly empty goblet away from his mouth, Wolfram spared a glance at the girl sitting next to him.

Greta smiled pleasantly, already done with her own food but remaining in her seat. She'd joined in with Elizabeth and the Sage's conversation a few times, but had mostly sat and listened, occasionally exchanging a look or two with Wolfram. Her eyes twinkled to show her amusement, and Wolfram knew he was making his morose state obvious.

For once he couldn't be bothered to care.

"I'm not very hungry," he replied, looking down at his plate but refusing to pick up his spork again.

"You should still eat. I'll tell Yuuri that you're not taking care of yourself."

Wolfram was hardly intimidated by her threat. What was Yuuri going to do, force food down his throat whenever he came back? "Considering Yuuri's not here right now, I don't think there's much he can do about it, nor do I think he'd do much more than attempt to issue an order if he _was_ here."

"Speaking of His Majesty," Elizabeth somehow managed to pry her eyes away from the Sage long enough to finally turn her attention to her fairer friend. "Your mother says there's been some progress in your relationship. Is this true?"

Thinking her interest in his life had come much too late for him to feel like speaking to her about it - not that he would have even if he'd had her attention the entire time - Wolfram merely frowned and leaned back in his chair with his arms over his chest, hoping he looked cross but knowing it was more likely that he looked like a petulant child. "I'm so glad the two of you have been exchanging gossip about me," he said, terse and sarcastic.

"Well, _you_ won't tell me, so obviously I'm going to gain my information from other sources. Your mother just so happens to be the most willing to talk, although I'm sure I could find other people who know something about it."

"If I don't tell you, it's for a reason. It's none of your business," he snapped, feeling inwardly betrayed by his mother. She should know he didn't want his relationship with Yuuri being advertised to the world.

"Is that how you treat your oldest friend?" Elizabeth asked. "And to think I came back to look after you when I heard His Majesty had gone away. I'd already risked traveling home. Things are even more dangerous now. Something could have very easily happened to me on the way here, and then where would you be?"

"At peace, seeing as I wouldn't have to hear you blathering on to the Sage. I didn't ask you to come back. You should have stayed home. I don't need you to look after me." His mother and Gwendal were already doing a fine job of that, and apparently Greta was joining in on their efforts.

"Wolfram doesn't like to kiss and tell," his daughter proclaimed.

Apparently she thought she was an authority on his love life as well.

"Shibuya does," the Sage announced, his grin wide and his glasses glinting.

Wolfram was just about to stand and storm out of the room when the words registered, and his face instantly grew red. "What?" he bellowed. "What did he say? How dare he share our private business with other people?"

Yuuri had showed very little interest in their relationship before recent weeks, so he'd assumed that his husband would wish to keep any further developments between themselves. Hearing that the Sage had at some point been informed of things made him wonder just how much Yuuri was saying to people, and how many more people knew what went on behind their bedroom door, which, admittedly, wasn't all that much at the current time - nothing more than kisses and a few light caresses. But if Yuuri was talking _now_ then that meant he might be talking _later_, and Wolfram definitely did not want other people knowing about what might happen later.

_He_ didn't even know what might happen later!

Elizabeth immediately jumped on the hint of more information. "Yes, Ken, what has he told you? I'd like to hear how well he's treating my dear Brother Wolfram."

"I'm not your 'dear' anything," Wolfram glared at her, before turning his narrowed eyes to the Sage in warning, "and if you know what's good for you, Sage, you won't tell a soul what you seem to think you know."

"It's not like you've done much more than kiss," Greta added lightly, "which _everyone_ knows about by now, seeing as you haven't always kept it private."

The memory of being pressed against a wall in the hallway quickly assailed him, and Wolfram had to force his thoughts back to his anger and annoyance so as not to think about the firmness of Yuuri's body or the hard press of his lips against his own.

"Well… that's… that's entirely Yuuri's doing," he stammered, knowing his face was quickly changing to the red of embarrassment. "I… I would never… not of my own volition… not in p-public. It would be improper."

"Yet I don't hear you complaining when it happens," his husband's friend pointed out, appearing much too cheeky for Wolfram's liking.

"Really?" Elizabeth's level of interest was growing by the second. "You've kissed in public? I hadn't thought you capable of such displays of affection. You? Mr. Propriety himself? I'd have thought you'd keep your relationship completely behind closed doors. I suppose I was wrong to think so. My, you've gotten brave, haven't you?"

"I told you… it was… it was all Yuuri's doing…"

He would simply choose not to acknowledge that he hadn't pulled away or told Yuuri to stop, but had instead been a willing participant in the event in question.

"Have you consummated the marriage yet?"

The redness in his face darkened, and Wolfram could almost feel his virtue shattering as it was brought foreword for discussion. "What?" he bellowed a second time. "No!" There was a moment of reconsideration before he continued. "That is to say… why would I tell you something like that? It's less your business than the kissing is!"

No sort of consummation had yet to take place, and after what had nearly happened to him less than two months prior, Wolfram couldn't see himself being ready for something like that to happen so soon. He and Yuuri had yet to get very far to begin with; the consummation of something that had been more or less forced onto them wasn't something they should be rushing into, and Wolfram had no intention of doing so.

"But it's been two months since you got married," Elizabeth observed. "You haven't even gone through with it in order to make the marriage official? What a sad excuse for a wedding night you must have had. No wonder you're so crabby all the time. You've been repressed."

"If you'll remember, our wedding night didn't exactly go smoothly. We were attacked by Isidore for the first time."

Elizabeth ignored the statement. "You know some people wouldn't hesitate to claim that your marriage is invalid. If the Aristocrats grow displeased with you, I'm sure they'd bring it up. They'll say you're not the true heir until you're His Majesty's true husband."

"I'd lie."

"They'd need proof - soiled sheets and all that."

"Then I'll soil some sheets!" Wolfram shouted, feeling highly uncomfortable by the direction this conversation was taking. "Can we please stop discussing this?"

The door to the dining room creaked open to disrupt them, and Wolfram couldn't have been happier to see one of the guards striding in. Instructions from Gwendal to see to more paperwork before bed would be more welcome than having to sit there and be the target of increasingly inappropriate questions. He'd rather return to the stress of wartime politics than let Elizabeth continue to tease him.

"Your Majesty," the guard greeted him with a small bow before approaching.

"What is it?" he asked, turning away from the other three at the table so as not to invite them to take part in the exchange.

The guard stopped a foot away from him, holding out a folded and sealed sheet of parchment. "We received this dispatch from the main medical unit with instructions that it was to be for your eyes only."

Wolfram snorted, imaging the look that had crossed his brother's face when the liberty of being the first to read the message had been denied to him. "I'm sure Gwendal wasn't pleased to hear that."

"The instructions came from His Majesty himself," the sentry explained, holding the parchment out more in order to hand it to him.

Feeling suddenly surprised, Wolfram reached out to grab it, as if it would be kept from him if he didn't take it quickly enough.

Almost half a month had passed since Yuuri had gone away, and Wolfram had not heard from him. Greta had received a letter shortly after his husband had arrived at the medical station, but Wolfram himself had not been given the same sort of consideration. He hadn't been angry about it; he was happy enough that Yuuri was attempting to develop some sort of a relationship with him, and he was glad to know that he was alright - no matter how he was forced to gain the information. He'd thought to write Yuuri himself, but he hadn't known what to say to him.

The memory of their separation was still fresh in his mind - the kiss they'd shared in their bedroom that had been both sultry and innocent at the same time. It was the most erotic thing they'd done to date - if it could be considered erotic - and just thinking about it caused his heart rate to pick up. It should terrify him; Ilyich had been the first to kiss him in such away, though it had been against his will, and it was images of the attack that filled his dreams every night. But Yuuri had been gentle and caring, and his tenderness had made all the difference. Instead of finding the action distasteful, he'd found it to be very exhilarating.

Impatient to see what the message held, Wolfram broke the seal keeping the parchment from unfolding and spread it open. Yuuri's scribbled handwriting met his eyes and brought a smile to his face, and the formerly embarrassed prince forgot his agitation and became absorbed in the words.

_Wolfram,_

_I'm sorry it's taken me a while to write to you. Things have been busy. That's not much of an excuse, but it's all I have. I meant to write to you when I wrote Greta, but I couldn't really think of anything to say that I hadn't already said to her. I'm sure she told you I was fine, even though I probably should have told you myself._

_I arrived at the medical station a week ago, so it's been about two weeks since I left the castle. It's easy to lose track of the days when I don't have things to constantly remind me of the date, but I've been keeping a tally. It makes it seem like time's actually passing instead of standing still. I thought about writing you a few days ago, but it's taken me a while to think of what to write. I'm never really sure what you want to me say._

_The last time I saw Conrad was about two days ago. He stayed one night after dropping me off at the medical station, before he and Yozak went to the border. I haven't seen all that much of him since, but he writes to let me know what's going on, and to make sure I'm still okay. I don't know how well things are going for us on the front since he can't send me that sort of information incase someone intercepts it, but he looked optimistic when he came to see me. He might be putting on an act for my sake, but I like to think things are going well. It makes it easier to go through the days._

_He's different out here, though I guess it's not all that hard to understand why. After what happened years ago, he probably doesn't want a war any more than we do. Sometimes I'm scared for him even if I know he can take care of himself. He's better at that than I am._

_Gunter's changed a bit, too. It's weird to see him so serious all the time. I'm used to hearing him shout for me and making a mess of everything when he thinks I've gone missing or something. It's hard to think of him doing things like that now. He's almost a completely different person. If I hadn't seen him like this before, I probably wouldn't think it was really him._

_I haven't seen Yozak since we first got here, but I'm sure he'd randomly pop up out of nowhere if I needed him, just like he always does. Conrad said he's been doing a little spying, which I guess is a good idea even though I worry about him being caught. But when has Yozak ever not been able to get out of a sticky situation, right?_

_I've been helping Gisela out as much as I can with what little medical knowledge I have. I could tell she was mad at me when I first got here, but I like to think I've been more of a benefit than anything else. It's hard seeing people come in so badly wounded. I felt sick the first couple of days, but now I've gotten used to it, or as used to it as I can. I don't like it but I'm dealing with it. That's all I can do at the moment anyway._

_Gisela wears herself out a lot. I've had to tell her to stop and rest plenty of times already. Sometimes I worry that she might end up pushing herself past her limit if I didn't, even if I know that she's smarter than that. She's taught me how to splint broken limbs and how to stitch up wounds, and since my magic is stronger than hers I know she's grown to like having me around. There are a lot of healers at the medical station, but still not enough for all the people that are brought in. Everyone's always rushing around, trying to do more than two things at once._

_I miss you. I'm so used to you being with me all the time that I expect you to come dashing around the corner at any minute. But don't! I want you to stay there. I swear you'll regret it if you try to sneak out like you've done before. I totally beat you the first time we dueled, and I could win in a fight against you again if I had to. You're better off at home. I know you'd only end up pushing yourself passed your limit, too._

_And I promise I'm not cheating on you with any of the pretty nurses, or with another soldier, so don't start worrying about things like that either! Except one of the girls I was helping out yesterday was pretty cute! I'm just kidding! Stop glaring, I know you are. You should know by now that I'd never do something like that to you. I can be a jerk sometimes, but even you have to admit I'm not that bad. If I haven't proven myself to you already, then I don't know what to do to make you realize that there isn't anyone else._

_How are things going back home? Is Gwendal still being a grumpy jerk? I know he's your older brother and you want to do right by him, but don't let him push you around, okay? Threaten him with Anissina or something, that always works. He's got the best interests of the kingdom in mind, but so do you and I. Just do what you think should be done and don't worry about anything else. I know you'll do the right thing, even if Gwendal doesn't think so._

_How's your mother doing, by the way? She was a lot more subdued than usual when I left. Seeing her like that was almost as weird as seeing Gunter now. Tell her that everything's fine here and that Conrad's doing a good job, because I know she's probably scared for him, too._

_Is Greta okay? She seemed fine when she wrote back to me, but I just want to make sure. I hope she's not too upset about me leaving. Make sure to remind her that I love her and that I'm thinking about her, and that I'll come home soon._

_I've been thinking about you a lot, too, and it makes me feel better knowing that you're safe. I know why you wanted to come, and I know it's your duty to protect me, but you've done it so much already and I would have felt terrible if you got hurt again. I know you're strong, and I know you're a whole lot better at these things than I am, but I really want to be the one doing the protecting this time. I'm tired of sitting around and watching everyone else sacrifice themselves for me. I should be making some sacrifices, too. I just hope you'll understand._

_Take care._

_- Yuuri_

When he had finished, Wolfram became aware of the wide smile that had broke out along his face. He wasn't satisfied with stopping there and wished that Yuuri had written more, though he'd scrawled across two entire sheets of parchment. He appeased himself by reading through the letter again, hearing Yuuri's voice in his head. If he concentrated hard enough on the thought of his husband, he could pretend that he was right next to him instead of miles away.

After his third read-through, he folded the paper up again, clutching it tightly in his hands and letting the warm feeling it invoked wash over him.

"Well?" Elizabeth prompted him, attempting to insinuate herself into his business once again. This time Wolfram couldn't spare the time to be annoyed. "What did it say?"

He shook his head but didn't answer her.

"Where are you going?" she questioned him again when he began heading for the door, leaving his plate of food mostly uneaten on the table.

"Don't wait for me. Finish your dinner," he said. He left the room before she, Greta or Murata could say anything else, suddenly giddy, and he had to try very hard not to begin running down the hallway.

His mood has just improved drastically. Yuuri's letter was unexpected, and not all of what had been written in it was positive, but it was definitely not unwelcome, and Wolfram had every intention of sending his reply before the night was through.

* * *

Releasing a soft sigh, Yuuri looked over the familiar writing. He'd come to a pause in the middle of the medical tent when one of the soldiers had brought the letter to him, and he took the time to let everything else fade into the background while he focused on more pleasant thoughts and feelings. He noted the roundness of the letters and how the stems swirled, and how his name looked so neat and beautiful when written by someone more accustomed to using a quill.

_Yuuri,_

_You are the biggest wimp I have ever had the opportunity to meet. _

He stopped to laugh. The language was so habitual and yet, now that there had been some progress, it was strangely intimate. At the same time, it was painful to see Wolfram's favored insult written on paper instead of shouted in his ear, as he would have preferred it.

_You don't have to do something like this in order to protect me. I want you home where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you're not lying about being fine. You've had me worried the last few months. I rarely know what to expect from you anymore. Sometimes you're the same as you've always been, but then there are other times when you don't act like yourself._

_I wish you had let me go with you, though I know one of us should stay behind, even if Gwendal is perfectly capable of taking care of business without us. Of course he's still in a foul mood, and Mother claims he has a few more wrinkles, but since I signed the Declaration he hasn't made me do anything else. He's been staying up late every evening, long after I go to bed, probably making sure I haven't done anything too horrible. I still don't think he trusts me to make good decisions on my own. He's convinced that you and I are still too young to rule effectively. It makes me angry. I'm not a child and I don't appreciate being treated as one._

_Mother is fine. She's doing what she can to help here, but there really isn't much more for her to do. It reminds me of how she was during the last war, only last time I hardly even saw her. Stoffel tended to keep her isolated from everyone so she couldn't be persuaded into doing something other than what he wanted her to do. I can't help but think that Mother believes this war to be her fault as well, like it's somehow connected with what happened twenty-four years ago. She forgets that Isidore is the main cause of our troubles this time, not Cimaron._

_Anissina hasn't been doing any new experiments as far as I'm aware, which I'm sure is a relief to Gwendal. Instead, she's been communicating with a couple of our territories as well as making sure our allies remain informed of the current circumstances. She's just as loud as a diplomat as she is as an inventor, I'm afraid. I think she wishes she could be more useful, but Gwendal will only allow her to do so much. Anissina claims it's proof of his prejudices against women, but I don't want to give her more power than she already has either._

_When she's not working, she and Greta are usually with Alexei. He's really a very sweet boy, though I still don't know why he acts the way he does around you, besides the fact that you're a complete idiot. You've never had a way with children. You simply got lucky with Greta. I've given Alexei Greta's old playroom. I hope you don't mind. Greta no longer uses it and was the one to suggest it in the first place, so I thought it might be a nice gift to our new nephew._

_Your Sage has actually been decently helpful, although I would appreciate it if you didn't tell him I said that (I would also appreciate it if you refrained from talking to him about our relationship, but I'll wait until you get home to yell at you about that)._

Yuuri winced, having forgotten that he'd made mention of the changes in their relationship to Murata. It hadn't been much - he wasn't comfortable sharing too many of the details - but apparently Wolfram had found out he'd made a couple of comments. Damn Murata for not being able to keep his mouth shut. Of course, he didn't know what else he could have expected.

_When he's not at the Temple with Ulrike doing whatever the hell it is he does there, he's gotten into the habit of taking up Gunter's place here. He and Gwendal like to strategize and the Sage will report their plans to me, whereas Gwendal probably would have gone on without my say so. The Sage seems to be one of the few people who believe that you and I have the ability to rule. Many are already beginning to have their doubts. The Aristocrats are angry that you've gone away at a time like this, even if you've gone to join the war that they wanted._

_Greta misses you, but your letter helped to ease her worries. It amazes me how easy it is for her to overcome what happened before. For it being such a traumatic experience, she's handled it very well, better than I have, I think. It makes me feel ashamed to know that she's gotten along better, but I'm proud of her at the same time. I hope you are, too. She really is her father's daughter._

_I try to spend as much time with her as I can. I know she gets lonely. I did during the last war. Everyone else was either fighting or taking care of business in the castle. I don't want Greta to feel like I did. We don't go outside much since it's so dangerous, but I make sure to eat with her and spend time with her after dinner every night. Sometimes we'll go to the playroom with Alexei, or we'll just sit and talk. She's grown up so much, and so quickly, too. I often miss the days when she was just a little girl. I don't think either of us had enough time with her before she grew up._

_I miss you, too. It's hard to sleep at night. I keep thinking that something could happen, even though I know you're relatively safe at the medical station. I want to see you and make sure that you really are doing well. You have no idea how worried it makes me to hear about the battles and know how close you are to them, and not think that something horrible has happened. Don't do anything stupid, wimp, or I'll make sure that you pay for it whenever you get back._

_I was happy when your letter came. I truly hadn't expected you to write to me. After the engagement and then our wedding, I thought writing letters would be a little too much for you. I know things have begun to change between us, but I still don't know how close is too close for you. I want you to be comfortable. I don't want to do anything that you don't like or don't want. It makes me nervous when I think that things might be going too quickly. I'm not trying to force you away, nor am I trying to drag you into something you don't want._

_I'm glad you wrote to me, because at least I know you're thinking about me, even if only a little bit. I think of you all the time, and knowing you are as well makes me feel a little better about the situation we're in, like it will work itself out. I wish you thought of me more. I __am_ _your husband, after all._

_Stay safe, wimp. Tell Gisela to take it easy and make sure you don't worry Gunter. He's no good to anyone when he's in a panic. I'm sure I don't have to worry about Yozak at all, but if you see him then make sure he knows I said to look out for you. And tell Conrart not to make Mother or anyone else worry. He does that too much, and so do you. The two of you are more alike than you think._

_I love you, and I'll be here waiting for you to come home._

_Yours,_

_Wolfram_

_P.S. You had better come back soon._

The letter emboldened him, gave him strength. Even though Wolfram wasn't here for him to feed off of his confidence, his husband's words had the same effect. Wolfram hadn't said as much, but he knew his friend believed in him. He might not understand or agree with his decision - he probably didn't see any point in his coming out here - but he still believed that he could do it. Wolfram had always been and always would be his greatest supporter.

Folding the parchment back up and slipping it between his chainmail and breastplate, Yuuri brought himself back to the present and looked around the medical tent to remind himself of what he was supposed to be doing. The tent was lined with cots, very few of which were empty. Most contained injured soldiers from the battlefield, or civilians that had been caught up in the fighting. Gisela was seeing to a man with an injured leg, while other healers were caring for patients with similar wounds.

Today he'd been given the task of checking on some of their older patients who were still waiting for their wounds to heal, to see if they'd made any progress or if further action would be necessary. Sometimes the news he had to give the men wasn't what he would prefer, but he liked going around and talking to them. It was easier than seeing fresh wounds and setting limbs, and it gave him the opportunity to express his appreciation for the men who've sacrificed so much for his kingdom.

He made his way over to the soldier he'd been heading for before he'd been distracted by the letter, putting a smile on his face and he dragged a wooden chair over to the bedside in order to sit down. He made a point of sitting with each of them and talking for a few moments, as well as learning each man's name. It made things more personal, and would probably make it even harder on him if things started going badly, but he refused to treat them as random people. They were his friends, not just his subjects. Every man who fought for him deserved the consideration of being acknowledged as an individual.

"How are you doing today, Karl?" he asked, reaching out to place a hand over the man's injured arm, using his magic to sense and increase the rate of healing.

Karl Brant was one of the few he'd met since coming here that didn't seem to feel as uncomfortable as others were with having the King see to their wounds. Some of the injured soldiers could hardly speak to him for fear of saying something wrong - though he'd reassured them that they could say whatever they wanted. Karl had been open and friendly since the moment he'd been brought in, and Yuuri enjoyed the time he spent treating him. A Thatcher by trade, Karl had recently enlisted in the army, only to have his left arm severely injured.

"Well enough, I'd say," was his good-natured reply. His short brown hair was matted, some of it covered by a bandage wrapped around his head, and his face was rough with whiskers. He was exceptionally tall, with wide shoulders and a thick chest, and a long, crooked nose. He wasn't as handsome as Gwendal or Conrad - Yuuri sometimes thought Karl looked something like a bear - but he had the brightest blue eyes Yuuri had ever seen in a person. They twinkled with mirth almost endlessly, and fastened on Yuuri as if he was just another man. "A letter from your sweetheart?"

Yuuri smiled at the question, nodding lightly. "From Wolfram, yes."

"Must be nice to hear from 'im. 'S always nice getting letters from home."

"Your home isn't that far from here, is it?" It surprised him how many different people came from so many different places, though he knew his kingdom was vast - fifty-million people in ten different territories, plus the main territory where the capital and Blood Pledge Castle were located.

"You can see it when yer outside. Just to the west."

"Do you have a family?"

Karl's lips stretched beneath his beard. "My wife, Nastia. We have a son, born about three years ago. Name's Merriel. We call 'im Merry. He's a good boy, energetic, playful, always laughin'. He was born a bit early and needed a healer to keep 'im alive, so 's good to see 'im healthy now."

"You miss them," Yuuri observed. Pining away for his own family, he could easily recognize the same longing in others.

"'Course I do. Don't you miss yer husband an' yer girl?"

"All the time."

"Only difference 'tween you an' me is you didn't have to come out here if you didn't want to. You could be with 'em now instead."

"Isn't it the same for you? Couldn't you be at home with your wife and son? You said you weren't a soldier before the war."

"I wasn't. Only experience I've had is in our militia. But healers are expensive and Nastia and I owe one a lot of money for keepin' our boy alive. Thatching roofs wasn't bringin' in enough money. I enlisted to help pay off our debt."

"That's horrible. I mean, to owe someone so much just because you wanted to keep your baby alive." He didn't know a healer who'd be heartless enough to let a baby die just because the parents couldn't pay up. Gisela definitely wouldn't do something like that.

"It was our choice."

"But if you hadn't, wouldn't he have died?"

"Many children die before they're more than babes, Yer Majesty, 'specially out in the country. I had two brothers that both died before they were fifty. Life's as dangerous as war. Illness'll kill as many people. Merry just happened to be born at a time when the healers were busy, right after you opened them boxes. Lots of people were hurt fightin' whatever those things were. 'S where I got this from," he said, lifting the hand of his good arm and pointing to a scar across his collarbone. "It cost more for the healer to spend so much time with Merry when there were other people she could've been seein' to, other people who could've paid 'er."

"I would have done it for the baby, not for the money." If he was only three years old, Karl's son must still be very small, unless his wife had human blood in her. It seemed heartless to him for someone to ignore a child in favor of making more money.

"That's not how the world works, Yer Majesty. Be nice if it was, but it isn't, so you've gotta do what you've gotta do. Me an' Nastia don't regret it. We've got a decent home and a healthy boy. As long as we can make sure he lives a good life, we'll be happy. You can work for more money; you can't replace yer son." He paused, looking at the arm currently enveloped by the green light form Yuuri's palm. "'Course now I've gone an' hurt myself. Can't be much help to anyone 'til I heal up."

"If your village is so close, why don't you have your wife and son come visit?"

Karl laughed, but it was good-natured, like everything he did. "Are you kiddin'? It may be close enough to see, but it's too dangerous for a woman and a babe to come out here on their own. You never know when the battle will come closer to home. I told Nastia to stay an' keep Merry safe."

Frowning, Yuuri paused to think on it for a few moments, before posing an offer. "I could send some soldiers out to escort them here." It would take some planning seeing as the soldiers had other duties and couldn't be spared from them for long just for a mission of goodwill, but if he could organize it and send some men out when they weren't busy, it would only take a couple of hours for his wife and child to be escorted to the medical station.

Karl seemed to consider, his smile fading a bit as he shook his head. "I don't want to be receivin' any special treatment, Yer Majesty."

"You won't be. Some of the others have had family members come see them. It's not right that you can't see your wife and son at a time like this. A visit from them will probably make you feel a lot better, and might even help you heal faster."

"I feel better knowing that no harm's come to them. Makes fightin' this war worthwhile, knowing the ones you care about are safe. I don't like war; I know a lot of us don't. Yer not alone in that. 'S hard to keep goin' sometimes and it's only just started, but when I think about Nastia an' Merry, it makes it all worth it." He trailed off, thinking again, then shook his head a second time. "But if it wouldn't be too much trouble… I'd like to see 'em. I want to see my wife smile an' hear my boy laugh."

Yuuri could understand that feeling very well. He wanted to see Wolfram smile, and watch Greta dance around and play, happy and free from worries.

"It wouldn't be too much trouble at all," he said. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Scene temporarily removed. See profile for explanation.

* * *

_Wolfram,_

_You warned me that I'd have to see people die while I was out here, and even though I believed you, I guess I never realized how much death there would actually be. I don't regret coming to help, and I understand now that war can't be prevented all the time, but it hurts to watch our people die. I've seen more than I thought I would have to in the medical station, and it makes me sick to watch men as young as you and I lose their lives. Maybe I was stupid to believe that I'd be able to handle it. I know that you would probably do better than I have._

_I feel like a coward. All of these men are risking everything, fighting in a war some of them didn't even want, and I wonder if there's more I should be doing. I'm their king, and all I do is sit around and watch them die for me. I can sit next to them so they're not alone when they pass on, but I can't do anything to save or avenge them. I feel like they're dying for nothing, and it makes me angry at myself for being so weak. I should be doing more to protect them._

_I've met so many different people, and it seems like all of them have a different reason for coming to war. Some of them had nothing else, some of them joined for honor and glory, and then there are others who joined because they don't have enough money at home. They left their families behind, and some of them will never make it back, but all of them have a reason for it._

_Sometimes I hear the older men telling stories about the last war, and it sounds so awful I wonder how they can stand going through it again. I've heard a lot of stories about Conrad, and when I look at him and Yozak and Gunter, I wonder how they can do this without thinking about the past. I wish I could be as strong as they are. Standing next to them and knowing about the things they've gone though makes me admire them more than I did before._

_It's hard to sleep at night when I can hear the injured soldiers groaning in pain. I try to think of happier things to block it all out, but it doesn't always work. I have dreams like I did on our wedding night, and it just makes me feel like all of this is my fault. If I'd done something to stop Cimaron and Isidore sooner, would things be this bad now? If I'd let Gwendal and the others convince me to sign a Declaration before you did, would things be any better?_

_But then if I'd let them convince me sooner, you and I might never have even gotten married. I don't really know what to think about that. I didn't want to get married at the time, not like that, but I don't mind it now. I still think we should have waited longer. We should have been able to try what we're doing now before getting married, but I don't think I would go back and change it if I could. I might change some things, but not that. I care about you and I feel comfortable with you now. We just have to work on everything else._

_I've heard a lot of the soldiers talking about how they have people to fight for, family and friends they'd die to protect. If I ever had to fight, I know it would be for you and Greta. In this world, you're my family. Maybe the engagement and the wedding weren't completely intentional, but everything we have now is._

_When Conrad told me about the night you and Greta were attacked, I wasn't angry just because you didn't tell me about it, or because you didn't plan on telling me about it, but because they hurt you and I wasn't there to protect you. You call me a wimp and maybe I am. I know you can defend yourself, but I want to now. Maybe you'd rather not be protected by someone like me seeing as I'm not that strong, but I have to do this for you, and for myself._

_I know I'm being selfish. I know this isn't the smartest thing I've ever done. I know there's a big chance that I'll fail and prove to everyone that I'm just a stupid kid. Gwendal will probably end up being right in the end, just like he always is. But I still have to take that risk. I have to grow up sometime, don't I? And if I never try, how am I ever going to know for sure if I'm able to do it or not?_

_That's the same question Shori asked me when I went to Earth. It's taken me this long to realize that he was right._

_- Yuuri_

_

* * *

_Another letter came to Yuuri late one night, three weeks into his time at the medical station. The stars were out and the wind blew cold, and the moon was crescent shaped in the darkened sky. He was sitting outside by a fire, looking into the bright red and orange flames, when a soldier brought it over to him and then bowed himself away. Carefully he broke the seal, melted wax pressed with his own crest, and spread the paper out onto his knees.

_To my husband,_

_No matter what happens between now and the time when you finally come home, know that I am proud of you._

_I don't say that simply to make you feel better, but because every word of it is true. In the fours years that I've known you, you have grown from a young, ignorant and naïve boy into a brave man. When we first met, I never would have thought that you would grow into the sort of king this country needs. I hoped. I've never stopped hoping, but you know where my hopes have led me before._

_Gwendal, Conrart, Gunter and I have not always acted in ways to accommodate your growth. We've often sheltered you, so that you can maintain your innocence and naïveté, never thinking that we were doing more harm than good. I admit that is part of the reason I thought not to tell you about what happened to Greta and me, and why I failed to initially agree with your desire to go to war. I wanted to protect you from the truth, from the feelings and realizations you would have as you gained more knowledge of the world._

_As you've grown more in recent months, I've been afraid of the changes taking place within you. I love you for who you are, for the reckless things you do, for your innocent beliefs and your idealistic goals, and for the simplicity you bring to everything. Our relationship is complicated, but our friendship has been the easiest companionship I have ever taken part in with anyone. I can be who I am around you and not feel ashamed for it. With you, I am not a soldier or a petty nobleman; I am not Gwendal's brother or Conrart's charity case; I am not my father's neglected son or my mother's doll. With you, I am everything I have always wanted to become but never had the chance to be. I am a person. I am a man. I am someone who hopes and fears and dreams. I am someone who loves._

_I don't want that to change. I don't want __you__ to change, because then what if I'm unable to be as I am anymore? But now I realize that no matter what you face, no matter how you grow, you will never be anything but Yuuri to me._

_I apologize if this seems sudden, or if the expression of my love in so many words is too much for you, but after reading your letter and sensing your sorrow and doubt, I thought you might need to be reminded of how much you've come to mean to me. I grow anxious writing this, though it's easier to find the words when I have time to think instead of speaking with you face-to-face and needing an explanation on the spot._

_You are not selfish, Yuuri. You are coming into your own. Your decision may not be wise, but your intentions are genuine, as they have always been. You may fail in this; I can't pretend that failure is not a possibility, but you will have learned something either way, and you will have proven yourself to be a stronger man than any of us have ever expected of you. That is something to be proud of, it is something for all of us to be proud of, even if you are unable to reach the goals you've set for yourself._

_You've taught me that it is our failures as much as our successes that make us who were are. I pray that you never forget that. A boy is not man until he can learn to accept the things he cannot change, and make the most of them._

_Think of me when you are sad or afraid. Remember how much I cherish you. I may be husband to you in words alone, but you are mine at heart._

_All my love,_

_Wolfram_

The creases in the parchment were a bit sloppy, as if it had been folded quickly to prevent Wolfram from rethinking his decision to send it. He stared at the words for some time, letting the feelings behind them fill him with their passion and devotion, before folding it back up. He held it in his hands, looking at the broken seal and thinking about what Wolfram had said to him, before bringing the parchment to his lips and kissing it softly.

'_You're mine at heart, too, Wolfram.'_

_

* * *

Wolfram,_

_Your last letter couldn't have come at a better time. Don't worry that it was too much for me to read. Months ago, maybe it would have been, but I need it now._

_Yesterday, we had to cut off a man's arm. It was the worse thing I've ever had to do._

"When exactly does His Majesty plan on returning? Has he not been gone long enough?"

Disturbed from reading Yuuri's most recent letter, Wolfram glanced up to stare at the woman currently raving in the middle of the room. He'd been listening to similar things all day, as the Aristocrats not leading troops of soldiers had felt the need to intrude upon him and express their displeasure in a series of heated comments. Griselda von Hassel was merely the most recent one, and though he'd made attempts to ignore her ranting, her shrill voice made it difficult to pretend as if she wasn't there.

The woman stood before his desk, stuffed into a dress of puffy skirts and an abundance of lace, her mousy brown hair pulled up into a style she probably thought was flattering but what did little to better her appearance. Her usual makeup was caked onto her face, bright paste coating her lips and red splotches on her cheeks, over flesh colored powder that unsuccessfully covered her many wrinkles. Her numerous rings flashed in the light of the setting sun as her hands waved in her unhappiness.

She was glaring at Gwendal, shouting her words up at him instead of in Wolfram's direction, but her loud voice was not easily drowned out. Wolfram was amazed that Gwendal could stand there so still and unemotional while this deranged woman screamed in his face.

"The King will return whenever he sees fit, as is his right," his eldest brother intoned tiredly.

"We did not agree to this war so that he may go off and play nursemaid to common men!"

"Why then did you agree to this war, Lady von Hassel?"

"To uphold our honor! Isidore insults us! We must not bend to Lyron's will! If His Majesty intends to influence events in this war, then he must use his powers and go into battle, or return here where we can keep our eyes on him!"

"And manipulate him the way you manipulated me?" Wolfram wondered aloud, lowering the parchment he'd been reading over and setting it on Yuuri's desk. Griselda turned to him, her mouth curved into a heavy frown. "Lady von Hassel, I don't see you on the field of battle," he observed.

"We women have no business involving ourselves in warfare."

Gwendal barely held back a snort. "I fear there are many here who would not agree with you."

The distaste she felt for the women he spoke of was clear on Griselda's face. "Cecilie and that Karbelnikoff girl are hardly honorable women."

Something inside of Wolfram caught fire, and his gaze narrowed. "You speak to me of honor when you and your aristocratic partners used underhanded means to achieve the signing of a Declaration of War, so as to send poorer and less fortunate men to fight your battles for you?"

The agreement of the Aristocrats during the ceremony in the Temple of the Great One was no longer a mystery to him. The truth behind it had come to light the evening Gwendal had confronted him with the Declaration. If they had not thought he would sign it, few of them would have agreed to his marriage with Yuuri, and it most likely would not have taken place. They had used him in their goals for war, without considering his own feelings or desires.

"If anyone has shown a shred of honor in this situation, it's Yuuri," he said. Yuuri had followed through with everything that had been expected of him, no matter what the cost to himself. "He is facing his responsibilities. What do you do beside gorge yourself on food that should be going to the soldiers and complaining that things are not being handled accordingly? If you think you could do better, why not prove to us that what you say is not all talk?"

Griselda's face grew red, her plump body shaking as her expression became livid. "H-How… how dare you? You ungrateful wretch! If it were not for me, if it were not for great men such as your uncle von Bielefeld and Lord von Mannheim, you would not be sitting there in your cushioned chair with all those jewels on your head!" Her bulging eyes flickered up to his crown. "Do you wear that because it makes you feel pretty? Because it makes you feel important?" she asked patronizingly.

Wolfram stared at her levelly. "I wear it to remind disloyal members of the Court, such as yourself, that Yuuri left me in charge until he returns."

"Disloyal?" Griselda shrieked. "You have the audacity to call me disloyal?"

"You've given me no reason to think otherwise," he told her evenly.

"You miserable little bitch!" she spat. "We _made_ you Prince Consort, and we can tear you down just as easily! What more are you than a bastard? Everyone knows your fool of a father and harlot of a mother were not married when they conceived a pathetic little thing like you! You're hardly fit to rule this country! The son of a murderer and a whore, that's all you are! I will never understand why His Majesty has taken such a liking to you, but mark my words! It will not last long!"

Wolfram was hardly impressed. Everything she shouted was nothing he hadn't heard before. "If you're quite done, you may leave," he commanded, tired of listening to her screeching. "I have better things to do than listen to a harpy squawk."

Griselda straightened, the color of her face nearing purple. "You'd do well to heed my warning, Bastard von Bielefeld. Your downfall will come as quickly as your rise!" Turning on the heels of her expensive shoes, Griselda flounced out of the room in a rage, slamming the door behind her once she and her voluminous skirts had left.

Gwendal sighed once she had gone, standing beside Yuuri's desk as Wolfram sat behind it. He did not appear all that bothered by the incident, but his wrinkles were showing through more than usual. He looked tired, his age more obvious in his fatigue. "It would be dangerous to make enemies of the Aristocrats, Wolfram," he cautioned him. He didn't not sound especially worried, nor was he angry, but the warning was still there.

Wolfram shrugged. "Griselda is one of ten." Six of the ten were required if any of them planned on rising against him. He hardly thought Griselda capable of convincing five others.

"She is not the only," Gwendal countered. "Von Mannheim holds no compassion for you due to his anger towards your father, von Bielefeld would sooner strike you down with his own hands that accept you as his nephew, and Yale and Grantz hold little love for you."

"I still have Voltaire, Karbelnikoff, Christ, Wincott and Spitzweg on my side." Some of them may often question him, but their loyalty to Yuuri was such that they wouldn't raise a hand against him so long as he was Yuuri's husband.

Gwendal's frown remained. "You know better than to place so much faith in Stoffel. He may be Mother's kin, just as he may support His Majesty, but he is not overly fond of you and he is easily swayed. If he believes the other five can offer him more than His Majesty does currently, he would consider defecting. Then you would have more than half of the Aristocrats against you."

Wolfram's face fell into a frown that matched Gwendal's, his eyes shifting down to the unread letter resting in front of him. "The Aristocrats have grown too powerful."

He'd always questioned the way in which the country did its business, ever since he'd witnessed the tragic events of the previous war. The vote of six out of the ten Aristocrats was needed in order to accomplish anything important, but that vote was easily gained or withheld through treacherous means. Threats and promises for payment were exchanged in return for support, and opinions were twisted and forced to abide by those of others. Stoffel had manipulated the Aristocrats in the past, getting enough on his side to gain power and forcing the rest into silence.

But what need should a king have for such methods of governing? Their council should be accepted, as they ruled the regions of the Great Demon Kingdom and knew best what needed to be done in those territories, but to give them so much power, for them to have the ability to place their needs and ambitions above the good of the country, it seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. Should the king not be able to make the decisions unconditionally, in response to the advise given to him by those who oversaw his territories?

"You propose stripping them of their power?" Gwendal questioned him, his blue eyes sharp and calculating.

"Would it be so bad if Yuuri was to rule absolutely, without their agreement or approval? He would have the overwhelming support of the people, who love him more than they do their aristocratic lords. As long as he has good council, I don't see why he shouldn't have supreme power and authority."

"You fail to see the danger in what you suggest, Wolfram. The Aristocrats have their own supporters, their own armies. Secession has already been threatened, and though it has never happened before, it remains a possibility. If you and His Majesty anger them more, it could prove disastrous."

"But don't you think they've grown too influential in the decision-making process? Wouldn't it be easier to pass legislation and enforce laws if their agreement wasn't necessary?" he asked. It seemed obvious to him that Gwendal did not always favor the views of his counterparts. "Acquiring the support and approval of the majority is not always easy."

Gwendal seemed to take his comments into account, pausing to silently think them over. "It is true that our disagreements often serve to be detrimental," he agreed, having expressed his anger over the arguing between the Aristocrats many times before. "However, it is also true that alienating them has the potential of leading our country into ruin. The Great Demon Kingdom has been governed by King and Aristocrats for four-thousand years. Changing that so quickly would lead to confusion and chaos."

"Yet it's something to consider, isn't it?"

Wolfram looked up again to see his older brother watching him closely, as if he'd not expected such an idea to come from him and wasn't sure how to answer the charge presented to him. It was the first time Wolfram had ever expressed his political opinions to either one of his brothers. Considering both Gwendal and Conrart were better versed in politics than he was, he hadn't thought before that any of his opinions were valid.

"Yes, it is something to consider," Gwendal allowed.

Pleased that he was being taken seriously and not questioned or put down for his views, Wolfram offered his brother a small smile. The steps he was taking may be small, but perhaps he was beginning to prove himself to the older man. If he could show that he was capable of being a fair and just ruler, no matter how he went about doing so, Gwendal might no longer regret his decision of making him Prince Consort.

It would be a small victory, but it would be a source of pride to have his brother thinking well of him again.

The moment ended when there was a knock on the door, their eye contact breaking as they both turned to see who would speak with them next.

"Enter," the older man said, and Wolfram sat up straighter in his chair to greet their newest guest.

A soldier entered, bowed, then spoke. "Your Majesty, Your Excellency," he began, "von Grantz requests an audience with you."

Gwendal's sigh of annoyance was audible. "First Griselda and now Marlena," he muttered to himself before responding to the soldier. "Tell her we've had enough for one day and will speak with her tomorrow if she has more than complaints to issue."

The soldier shifted in place uncomfortably while Wolfram lowered his gaze back down to his letter, taking it in hand to continue while his brother dealt with denying entry to yet another angered noble lady.

"It's not Lady Marlena, Your Excellency," the soldier contradicted him. "It's Lord Adalbert."

The letter fell out of Wolfram's hand to flutter down onto the desk, his eyes widening as he looked back up at his brother.

Adalbert had not been to the Blood Pledge Castle since he'd left it and abandoned the kingdom twenty-four years ago. He'd done much in aiding Yuuri over the years, and could even be considered an ally, but he'd chosen to remain in his village of roughnecks and vagabonds in the human lands, even after Yuuri had pardoned his crimes of desertion. They'd received little word from him since then, and had not expected him to involve himself in the conflict at present.

Gwendal appeared just as surprised as Wolfram felt. His eyes had not widened and his expression remained neutral, but his stance was tense, his back rigid as one of his hands twitched by his side. He met Wolfram's gaze, and there was a question in his eyes: should they see him?

Wolfram was unsure of how to answer him, but finally decided to do what he knew Yuuri would have done if he'd been there. He nodded.

Gwendal returned the gesture, before relaying their decision to the soldier. "Send him in."

**TBC…**


	21. Tuer

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and sexual exploration/experimentation.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Rating:** M.

**A/N: **Once again, I failed to reply to everyone. I'm so sorry! I'm determined to do better this time! Please, never hesitate to review! Even when I'm not able to respond (whether I just run out of time or I'm really that forgetful), your thoughts are always welcome and appreciated!

This is my favorite chapter out of all that I've written so far (for any story), so I'd like to see what you guys think!

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty-One - Tuer - To Kill**

The Temple of the Great One was as much a home to him as Blood Pledge Castle - perhaps more so, since he'd spent so much time between its thick stone walls. Four thousand years ago, he'd buried his king's soul here; three years ago, he'd helped to release that same king, only to pledge his full loyalty to another. The walls of the temple had bore witness to it all. Murata wondered how much more the building would withstand, how many more changes it would see within the kingdom before it finally crumbled to dust.

It was as old as Blood Pledge Castle, build to honor the elemental spirits of the earth that had allowed the Demon Tribe to settle on the land after the war against the Originators. It's intended purpose had been for worship and ceremony, and though that had surely been the case these four thousand years past, the object of the people's piety had quickly shifted from the spirits to the Original King. When they'd considered removing the Great One's soul from his body, the Temple had been the first and only place suggested to house his soul, as it was both removed from the Court but close to the country's center, and it was located on one of the Demon Tribes only plots of hallowed land.

It was a sacred place, if anything tainted by Demons could be considered as such, and it was the place Murata felt most at ease. Here he could come to collect his thoughts, away from the tedious life at Court, to a place where the main concern was not war and power, but peace and tranquility. The walls exuded serenity, blocking all signs of the crazy world outside, so that there was no noise, no distraction, and no wrong. He was one of the only men allowed inside without permission from the Shrine Maidens, a privilege he'd gained in the years he'd called the Temple home.

Descending into the furthest depths of the shrine, Murata quietly intruded upon the High Priestess's domain. Ulrike stood at the front of the room, facing the entrance and gazing into the crystal ball that showed the whereabouts of previous and current Demon Kings. The three remaining boxes were in their places on the platform behind her, Earth, Wind, and Hell's Fire, each now nothing more than a mere shadow of what they once were. Powerless, they served as a reminder of what had once been, the near destruction of the entire world by something as simple and common as hate.

Somewhere in the Temple the remnants of the fourth box were stored, shattered into pieces, parts of it disintegrated as the Demon Sword had descended to its master, so that it was now impossible for it to be fully restored.

Ulrike's attention remained on her luminous sphere, sparkling with the celestial bodies that signified the presence of a chosen soul, but Murata's entrance into the lower chamber did not go without notice. Leisurely, he made his way down the isle, lined by a row of candles on either side, the flames flickering as he passed, casting their light upon the walls as water from the fountain above produced undulating shapes on every surface.

"Your Eminence," the High Priestess greeted him in her soft, misty voice, "it has been some time since I saw you last."

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said as he came to a stop on the opposite side of the crystal ball, choosing not to offer an explanation as to why he'd been away for so long. "Is Shibuya still staying out of trouble?"

"His Majesty's aura has been quite calm. He remains out of danger, with very few fluctuations in his power. We are fortunate that little has transpired to jeopardize his desire to be at the front."

"Good." Murata gazed intently into the orb, noting the bright spot of light in the upper hemisphere. As Yuuri's magic had become more stable, so too had his spiritual reflection. The stability made it much easier to track his movements, if nothing else. "If we're lucky, and we rarely are, he'll return to us unscathed - hopefully soon."

"Do you grow anxious over His Majesty's well-being?"

"I grow anxious by the actions of others in his absence."

Ulrike's gaze quickly met his own, before returning to her fervid monitoring of the King. "Has something happened at the castle?" she asked.

"It's not a question of if it _has_ happened, but _when_ it will happen," he explained. "Von Bielefeld continues to offend the Aristocrats. Some of them are already beginning to regret their decision of naming him Prince Consort, especially now that Shibuya has gone to war on his own accord. They consider the idea that they should have put more pressure on the King to sign a Declaration instead of elevating von Bielefeld to a position above them as a means of accomplishing their goals."

"Do _you_ regret the decision, Your Eminence?"

Murata smiled lightly at her candid inquiry. This was why he came to speak with her when things grew disquieting: Ulrike's words and actions were never anything but humble and respectful, but she always managed to ask the right questions. It gave him the opportunity to think out loud instead of keeping the prospects and conceptions in his mind completely internal. She would prod him then listen quietly, while he expounded upon things that often coiled in his head, becoming entangled with an overabundance of memories and prior learning.

"No, I don't regret it," he replied. "I think it's a shame that it had to come to that. Playing with people's feelings is never fun, but sometimes it has to be done for the benefit of others. Von Bielefeld was a logical choice. All that remains now is to reign in his eagerness and mold him into an appropriate Prince Consort for the country. The Aristocrats, however, seem to think it's an impossible pursuit. Some of them would rather remove him than waste the effort of fashioning him into a suitable heir."

"Have they proposed a divorce?"

"Not yet, though I doubt Shibuya would agree to it if they did. He's already been talked into a political marriage, which was hard enough to convince him was necessary and wouldn't have proceeded without von Bielefeld's consent. Shibuya's not the type to back out of something until he's seen it through to the conclusion, whatever that might be. It'll be the same for his marriage. If they suggest a divorce, he'll deny them, maybe even place the decision on von Bielefeld again, and without consent from either one of them an annulment won't go through."

"Which would only anger the Aristocrats more," Ulrike calmly observed, though there was a hint of uncertainty in the softness of her voice.

Murata bobbed his head once in agreement. "And that on top of von Bielefeld's recent ambitions will not keep them satisfied."

"What has he done to displease them so?" she asked, surprised that it seemed their Prince would purposefully seek to anger his noble subjects.

"Nothing. Not yet. At least nothing but insult them. It seems the distaste they have for him is entirely mutual." He paused. He'd known that Wolfram's antagonistic relationship with many of the Aristocrats could end up being unfavorable, but he'd hoped - perhaps wrongly - that Wolfram would be able to put aside his differences and attempt to be more benevolent toward the people who aided the King in ruling the country.

Typically, Murata was a decent judge of character. It was something he prided himself on, having spent so many lifetimes meeting and interacting with countless differing peoples, immersed within societies both comparative and contrasting to one another. After all these thousands of years, he thought he knew what to expect from people based on their personality and background, but he was beginning to discover that there were still some people and events he couldn't accurately predict.

When he'd first met Yuuri's fiancé, Murata had immediately seen similarities in Wolfram and the Great One, similarities that went deeper than the near identical appearance. Just as the Original King had been prideful and arrogant, willful and demanding, so too was Wolfram; and just as Wolfram was aggressive and quarrelsome, childish and callow, so too had been the Original King. It was like seeing the Great One as he would have been as a young boy - haughty, uninhibited, and overtly zealous.

It wasn't until he'd conducted a more thorough examination with three years of observation that Murata noted the differences. Wolfram had been raised in a different fashion under entirely different circumstances, so his view of the world was different. The Great One had seen it as something to honor and protect; Wolfram saw the world as an entity all its own, constantly operating against him and bending him to its will. The Great One saw the worth in humans; to Wolfram, they were untrustworthy, devious, and worthless.

Their differences were more relevant than the ways in which they were alike, for it was those opinions and assessments of the world and those that peopled it that would affect Wolfram's policies in the future. Already his antipathy for the Aristocrats was beginning to manifest itself in the way he did business. As he grew more comfortable with his position and with the power he now held as the spouse of the King, his actions would no doubt become more earnest and severe.

"Lord von Voltaire has informed me of a conversation he had with the Prince just yesterday," Murata continued. "Von Bielefeld has considered stripping the Aristocrats of theirs privileges and giving sole power and authority to Shibuya."

Ulrike's violet eyes rose from the crystal ball, widening at the significance of Wolfram's intended action. "But he cannot do that! The Aristocrats have ruled this land with the King since His Majesty the Great One!"

"He can attempt it," he told her, as anxious about the possibility as she seemed to be, but not allowing it to show. "If he does, I see it ending badly. Shibuya would cause no problems as an absolute monarch, not with his morality and sense of justice. What power he'd have, he'd use for the greater good of the people, as he does now. Once again, it's the Aristocrats who cause the issue. They won't sit back and allow their rights to be taken from them."

"What would give Prince von Bielefeld such an idea?"

Murata frowned, gazing up at the decorative crest high on the opposite wall that had once contained the Great One's soul. Looking at it allowed him to feel a connection to his old friend, even if it was empty. "On Earth, a doctrine of absolutism once appealed to the western world. It was called the Divine Right of Kings. A similar tradition occurred in the east, known as the Mandate of Heaven," he knowledgeably explained. "Divine Right meant that a king was not subject to any earthly power, and gained his right to rule from God. Those who acted against the King also acted against the will of God, and were considered heretics."

"Do such ideas exists to this day?"

"No, but perhaps von Bielefeld has developed a parallel of his own. For four thousand years, the kings and queens of the Great Demon Kingdom have been chosen by the Original King, whom our people have revered as one would revere a God. His final selection was Shibuya; he spent millennia developing the perfect soul for the purpose of destroying him and ruling after he would no longer be able to influence matters within the country. That decision could easily be interpreted as something like Divine Right."

"Prince von Bielefeld has not visited Earth enough to adopt such concepts," the High Priestess pointed out. "If these theories cease to exist, he would not have been made aware of them."

"Which means he's come up with it on his own," he replied, dashing whatever hopes she'd built. "After being forced into a relatively loveless marriage, nearly raped, and then made to sign a Declaration of War, an act which broke his sworn oath to his husband, von Bielefeld is looking for control. However, he's unable to gain complete control himself due to his subservience to the King, so instead he's transposing the power he wants for himself onto the person he trusts most.

"I don't think his actions are derived from any firm belief in a Divine Right, though that may change as he further develops his political opinions and practices. He's a young ruler who, after losing control over his life, has just come into power; he shares many of Shibuya's ideals, as he's been heavily influenced by him, but he also retains some of the prejudices and fears of his childhood, many of which relate to the Aristocrats - Lord von Bielefeld refused to accept him as his nephew and almost withheld the family name, Lord von Mannheim spurns him simply because he has that name, Lord von Spitzweg used his mother to force his way into a position of regency, Lord von Grantz deserted and began allying himself with the humans, and Lord von Voltaire exiled his own cousin for crimes that, looking back, did not befit the punishment of being banished from one's homeland.

"Those experiences will lead him to form his own ideals separate from Shibuya, especially in the King's absence. He sees the Aristocrats as a threat to both he and Shibuya as much as Isidore is. They hold a power over him that causes him to grow anxious, and he holds a great sense of animosity toward them because of their present behavior and their actions in the past. It's only natural for von Bielefeld to want to do away with them; he sees them as his enemies."

Ulrike listened, absorbing each word so that she may think on it herself. Her concern appeared to increase with each point he made. "I do not think His Majesty would wish to rule this country supremely. It is not in his nature to act without the advice of others, whether that advice is contrary to his final decision or in agreement with it."

"I agree, but the Aristocrats need little power to give advice, which is the point we can expect von Bielefeld to make," Murata responded, his eyes never leaving the crest on the wall. "If he does develop a theory of Divine Right, he'll have plenty of evidence to work with. He's both feared and revered the Great One more fully than most throughout his entire life."

"Yet he initially opposed the Great One's decision to have a human on the throne."

"_Was_ he opposing him?" Murata wondered aloud. "Or was he merely looking for proof of Shibuya's power, as Lord von Voltaire was? From all that I've been told, as soon as Shibuya gave him that proof, von Bielefeld became his most faithful disciple."

"The von Bielefelds have always been prejudiced against humans," Ulrike pointed out, "more than any other family. Are you sure that played no part in his antagonism? His actions toward His Majesty were quite severe."

"It probably did," Murata conceded, "but I don't think it influenced him as heavily as others believe. It begs the question: does he still hold those same prejudices?"

"He has married a human man and adopted a human daughter," his comrade offered.

Murata was hardly swayed by the evidence. "Which proves that he's capable of accepting individual humans. He can accept Shibuya, the Princess, Shibuya's family and our allies and still be prejudiced against humans as a whole. He can have a general view of them and still allow exceptions." Black eyes lowered behind his glasses, finally meeting her gaze. "You can't tell me that if Shibuya had come to this world fully grown and looking as he did when he left the castle to go to war, von Bielefeld wouldn't have bowed to him straight away. He'd have been the first on his knees."

If there was anything Wolfram valued, it was strength, courage, and honesty, all of which he'd been given the chance to find within Yuuri. It made it possible for him to overlook less pleasing characteristics, like Yuuri's humanity. If he'd seen his favored virtues right away instead of the immaturity and lack of experience Yuuri had projected, Murata suspected Wolfram wouldn't have given their King such a hard time, and would have bended the knee and given his obeisances as quickly as Gunter had.

If the basis for his hostility had been Yuuri's impure blood, then an execution of power on Yuuri's part wouldn't have been enough to change Wolfram's allegiance. Either he would have refused to serve a human king altogether, or he would have surrendered to the Great One's will specifically because it was the Great One who'd made the decision, not because of anything Yuuri had said or done. Instead, it had been Yuuri's actions that had gained him another supporter, which seemed to suggest that Wolfram had been looking for the qualities he desired in a king, and not capitulating to his disgust for anything human.

"Will you speak with Prince von Bielefeld about his beliefs, or mention them to His Majesty?" Ulrike asked, lifting her hands to clasp them palm to palm with fingers entwined, as if in prayer. There was little for her to pray to and ask for guidance now that the Great One was gone, but the custom of folding her hands in a pious gesture was probably still comforting to her.

Sighing, Murata shrugged, not seeing that there was very much he could do about the problem. "Shibuya will have to be made aware of it, but I can't see how confronting von Bielefeld will do any good. Questioning him about his intentions may do nothing more than make him feel as if he's being backed into a corner. I'd be just another powerful man siding against him, in his mind. It would be better for me to watch from the background."

"But will you step in if he tries to take action?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed, considering the idea but failing to come to a decision. "If the Great One were still present," he began, eying the crest again, "I'd ask him what he's thinking, why he's causing events to unfold like this, but with him gone…" His eyes lowered to the crystal ball twinkling with stars. "Would it be better for me to influence things in his place and move us on a path affected by the lessons learned in Earth's history, or should I allow things to unfold as they are, and let us learn from our own mistakes?"

He allowed the question to hang there, not expecting Ulrike to answer it. It was a problem of ethics he'd been struggling with recently. Was it right to impose one world's values onto another? Was it acceptable for him to coach Wolfram and Yuuri in order for them to avoid the mistakes made in Earth's past, or should he allow a more natural course? Should the horrors and atrocities that happened on Earth be forgotten and ignored so that this other world could develop on its own, without the influence of a more technologically advanced realm?

"What happened to cause the idea of the Divine Right of Kings to die out on Earth?" Ulrike asked him, curious, her hands still grasping one another.

Murata's lips curved into an ironic smile, and the answer he gave, though insufficient in explaining the period of history completely, was true enough . "Many people who believed in it suddenly found themselves without a head."

Violet eyes expanded as Ulrike's expression changed from one of relative calm to one of horror. Murata, however, gave no further explanation, neither to reassure her or strengthen her apprehension, letting her consider the consequences of Wolfram's ambitions on her own.

Would things unfold similarly here as they had on Earth?

Possibly. But things could also be quite different. The question he faced now was whether certain things were best to be avoided, or if prospective happenings were necessary steps in creating a more peaceful and more civilized world. After all, it was through their own mistakes that people learned best, not through those of others.

* * *

Yuuri saw Karl's wife as soon as she was escorted into the medical tent, surrounded by guards for her protection as well as the protection of her young child. He took a moment to observe her, slowly wrapping a roll of bandages he'd just used in covering a patient's wound as his eyes took in her appearance. She looked as one would expect a commoner to appear, with frayed clothing that had been patched in places, seeming more bedraggled and unkempt than those of noble birth he encountered at the castle. But there was a softness to her that captured his interest and tempered his worries.

It had taken a while to coordinate the escort. He'd wanted to send a decently sized group of soldiers, incase Karl was right and the danger came closer to home, so it had been some time before all those he'd intended to send had been able to abscond from their duties long enough to make the short trip. He'd wanted to have her here sooner in the hopes that her presence would help to allay Karl's pain, but there was only so much he could accomplish in a given amount of time with the resources he had at his disposal.

He watched her as her eyes swept anxiously around the tent, seeking out her husband, holding her baby securely in her arms. Handing the roll of bandages to another healer who was in need of them, Yuuri moved to greet the troubled woman, putting a smile on his face in the hopes that it would ease her discomfort.

"Hi," he welcomed her when she noticed him, her eyes going wide with recognition. "You must be Nastia. Karl's been waiting for you."

"Y-Your Majesty!" she gasped out, and lowered herself into as much of a bow as she could manage with a baby hampering her motion and little practice. "I can't even begin to thank you for your generosity! First, seeing to my husband's hurts, and then allowing me to see him!"

"I'd hope others in my position would do the same thing," he said. He had all this power, all this influence; why wouldn't he use it to help others? He had no need for it himself.

"What can I do to repay you?" Nastia's outpouring of gratitude continued. "We have little money and nothing of value you gift you, but if there's anything else you want or need…"

Waving a hand in dismissal, Yuuri attempted to have her stop feeling as if she owed him anything. "Really, it's no big deal. I don't need to be repaid for this. What did I do aside from send some soldiers to bring you here? It was no trouble for me, I promise, and the soldiers will all be well compensated for their time." A few of them had denied any need for a reward, but he'd been adamant in his intentions to see that they received something in return for their charity.

"Your Majesty-"

He cut her off before she could finish her thought. "If you really want to do something for me, then go see your husband. He needs you right now. He's already been through a lot."

That gave Nastia pause, and she looked up at him in worry. "Someone said something about his arm…"

Nodding, he tried to remain neutral and straight forward, yet kind and sympathetic at the same time. "He was wounded in battle. We fixed it up as best we could and then watched over him from there, but we couldn't stop the infection."

"So his arm was…?"

"It was amputated about a week ago."

Since he'd first arrived, Gisela had been telling him to keep a careful check on his emotions and not allow himself to become too attached to the patients. He knew why, since many of them frequently died and others were left so severely injured it was a wonder they could go on living at all. It was enough to make someone go crazy. He constantly saw himself or Wolfram in the place of this soldier or that one, so that any attempt he made at keeping an emotional distance was made in vain.

Karl's loss of an arm had been especially traumatizing. After spending so much time trying to heal him, after enjoying so much of his company, he hadn't been able to just hand him over to Gisela and let her see to the procedure while he went off and distracted himself. He'd demanded to be present, to bear witness to the surgery, as if by being there he could somehow make things easier on the man losing an appendage, when in reality it probably hadn't made much of a difference at all.

Now he didn't know if he regretted it or not. The amputation had been one of the most gruesome things he'd ever seen, and had left him pale and shaky, with his stomach roiling. Their use of magic made the demons more capable of handling severe injuries, but anesthesia was nonexistent. Karl had undergone the surgery with complete awareness and no lack of feeling. Yuuri had never seen a grown man scream and shout the way Karl had when it had been cut off. He was just glad that Gisela had been quick about it.

Nastia seemed to share his dismay, her face paling as she gasped. "Which arm?" she asked, voice suddenly quiet, holding her baby a bit tighter in here grasp.

"His left." He supposed there had been some good in the procedure. Aside from preventing the infection from spreading, his left arm had not been his dominant one, which meant he retained the ability for swordplay and writing, and all the other tasks made easier with one's dominant hand.

It made Yuuri wonder how Wolfram's father dealt with having just one arm. Wolfgang had lost his right, not his left. He knew men in the military were conditioned to use their right hand, though some could fight just as well with the opposite, like Gwendal. Was Wolfgang as adept, or had he had to relearn everything he'd been able to do prior to the surgery?

"Where is he now?" Nastia's eyes scanned over the rows of cots again, but her sights didn't settle on the man she was looking for.

"Come on, I'll take you to him," Yuuri offered, turning to lead the way.

Karl had been moved to another area of the tent, where it was hoped that he would be able to recover in peace. The operation had left him pale and weak, and his condition was still in danger of worsening. Some days he showed signs of his former self, when his moods were positive and upbeat, but there were also days in which he was nothing like he had been. The surgery had taken more than his arm from him; some of his pride had most likely gone with it.

He was reclining in bed when Yuuri and Nastia arrived in the little secluded corner of the tent, where patients with more severe injuries were kept. He had the company of a few other men, one who had also suffered the horrors of an amputation, but none of them spoke to one another. Many times Yuuri would come by to see them staring off into space, and the responses he received from them were minimal. Many of the men kept back here seemed dead long before their bodies failed them.

"Oh, Karl!" Nastia exclaimed when she saw him, rushing to his bedside. Yuuri quickly grabbed a spare chair and brought it over, so that she may sit beside him. "I've been so worried!"

Karl's lips twitched beneath the hair covering the lower half of his face, raising into as much of a smile as he could manage. "Nothin' to fret about, Nastia."

"How do you feel? Are you in pain?"

Briefly, Karl glanced at the place where his severed arm had once been attached, before looking back at his wife. "Slightly, but there's little 'at can be done about it."

"I could try using my magic to dull the pain," Yuuri offered, beginning to move to his other side, having allowed Nastia to take his right so that she might hold his good hand.

"Don't waste it on me. You've been goin' 'round all day, healin' people left and right. Give it a rest."

"Karl!" Nastia gasped. "Don't be so disrespectful!"

"It's fine," Yuuri told her with a smile. "I don't mind. I don't see it as disrespect." In fact, he was happy to hear Karl speaking to him like that again. It made him think he might actually be recovering.

"You've been so kind already…" the woman began.

"It's nothing, honestly!" Yuuri said, waving a hand at her once again. Halfway through the motion, he moved back around to the other side of the bed where she was sitting, hoping to change the subject by pretending as if he'd just become aware of the child in her arms. "Is this Merry?"

Nastia glanced down at her child before shifting him in her arms so that he was facing forward, sitting him in her lap. "Yes, it is. Merry, can you greet His Majesty?"

Yuuri thought he might be a little young to greet anyone appropriately. He looked as one might expect a six-month-old human to appear, eyes looking around at everything that seemed foreign and chin coated with drool as he chewed on one of his fists with toothless gums. He had Nastia's hair, thin blond baby curls that had yet to grow very much, but he had his father's eyes.

If Yuuri had thought Karl had the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen, they fell to a close second compared to the hue that Merry possessed. Though wide, innocent and oblivious to most of the world around him, Merry's eyes pierced through him when he looked at him, as if all the secrets of the universe were his to know.

It was a troubling sensation, and one that Yuuri had to be quick to conceal, so that his reaction would not be viewed by the loving mother and father. He wondered if they had ever felt that way when looking at their son, like he was viewing them with more recognition than a normal three-year-old Demon would exhibit, or if he was merely overreacting. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been awed by something the Demons thought of as completely normal.

"Hi, Merry," he said to the child, showing him a big smile and leaning down to get a closer look, reaching out a hand to touch a curl or two.

Merry took a moment to stare at him, pausing in the gumming of his drool covered fist, before taking it from his mouth and unfolding his fingers to shove his palm against Yuuri's face with a delighted squeal.

Yuuri stumbled back, not from the strength of the action - for Merry's power was minuscule at best - but from the surprise of being hit. He let out a squeak as he stepped back and straightened up, lifting a hand to his aching nose to rub at it while Karl burst into raucous laughter.

Nastia, however, was more mortified than amused. "Merry! No no, don't do that!" she said, taking hold of his arm to prevent him from taking another wild swing. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty! I don't know what's gotten into him!"

Regaining his composure relatively quickly, Yuuri shook his head, smiling once again. "It's okay. He's just a baby. No harm done. Wolfram's always telling me I'm not very good with kids." He didn't really think it was his fault, though. He was the youngest in his family; he'd had no one to practice on aside from Greta, and she'd been ten when they'd first met and relatively self-sufficient.

"You been givin' yer Momma trouble, Merry?" Karl asked, his laughter receding into quiet chuckles.

The baby looked at him with a wide grin. "Mammm-ma!" he cooed, exaggerating the sound in his inexperience with words.

"Right. Yer Momma. Can you say 'Papa' yet?"

"Mammm-ma!"

Nastia gave him a wan smile, still appearing distressed by her son's behavior. "I've been trying to teach him, but I don't think it's taken."

Yuuri looked over the family for the rest of the day. He made sure to see to the other patients, but no matter where he went he found that his eyes always strayed back to Karl and his wife. Nastia stayed by her husband's side, holding his hand and stroking at his face, while Merry bounced in her lap or attempted to crawl along the ground by her feet. Watching them, it was obvious to him how much they cared for one another, and how much their child enhanced their unity, their sense of family.

He'd noted similar things in Hube and Nicola before, how happy Nicola appeared when she was with her husband and son, and how nurturing Hube had become since El's birth. It reminded him of all the times he and Wolf had spent with Greta, reading to her, letting her share their bed at night, comforting her when she was upset or scared. He wasn't the world's best father by any means, but he could still understand the feelings Karl and Nastia had for their child, as well as what they felt for one another. A special sort of bonding took place between two people raising a child of their own; he'd already experienced parts of it with Wolfram.

Perhaps one day they'd be fortunate enough to experience it again.

Nastia and Merry stayed by Karl's bedside until right before sunset, when it was agreed that they should head back to the village before it grew too dark. Nastia kissed her husband, and Karl held Merry with his only arm, holding him close for a few long moments before allowing him to be taken away. Yuuri saw them out, promising that he would take care of Karl and that he would have Nastia informed if there was any change in his condition - good or bad - then stood by the entrance of the tent to watch as the soldiers guided her back to her home in the distant village.

The fires were burning in the camp and the smell of food wafted his way when Yuuri went back inside, heading once again towards the back of the tent where Karl rested. His previous good mood seemed to have vanished as soon as his family had left, his expression melancholy, his face gaunt and his eyes empty. He looked at Yuuri with a frown when he took up Nastia's position by his bedside, and spoke in a voice hoarse with emotion.

"Can I make another request, Yer Majesty?"

Yuuri tried to smile, but the man's tone created a somber mood. "Of course."

"If I don't make it through this, can you see that my wife and my boy are taken care of?"

Frowning in return, Yuuri shook his head, not wanting to think of the alternative to Karl living. "Don't talk like that. You're going to make it through this. You made it through the operation! Now all you have to do is heal."

Karl's expression grew haunted at the mention of his surgery, but his words remained firm. "Don't bullshit me, Yer Majesty. Just 'cause I've made it this far don't mean I'll live through the war. If I don't, I wanna know Nastia and Merry are gonna be okay."

"Alright," Yuuri conceded, wishing he would stop talking like that. "I'll make sure they're taken care of. I promise I won't let anything happen to them."

Satisfied, Karl relaxed against the pillows, nodding his head once before falling silent.

Yuuri continued to sit by him, holding his hands out to use his magic, and though Karl had previously spoken against him trying to heal him, he said nothing now. Slowly, dulled blue eyes slipped closed, and Yuuri was left with nothing more than his thoughts and the groans of other patients to keep him company.

* * *

It was a charming inn, small and out of the way, with few travelers passing through. Even better, the owner asked no questions, and had led him to his room with hardly a glance in his direction. Ilyich couldn't complain. He was keeping himself out of the public eye as much as possible, and after a month of evading the authorities of the Great Demon Kingdom, he was now a day's journey away from the border. Soon he'd cross into Cimaron, out of the Demon King's reach, and then further, home to Isidore.

After spending three years within the borders of their enemy country, Ilyich was looking forwar to returning home. He had much to share with his king, and returning to his prior duties would be a delightful change of pace. The danger of being caught would be gone, and he could go back to a normal life.

But a man with goals must have patience, and he was biding his time. With soldiers in nearly every town, it was more difficult than before to move around undetected. All of them had been informed of his escape; they knew what to look for, and though he had his own men, he knew they'd be outnumbered now that the Demon King was aware of his Black Knights. Since the attack on Blood Pledge Castle, they'd been laying low, and he intended to continue with the practice for at least a little longer.

It was late evening. Ilyich sat at a small table by a low burning fire, sharpening and polishing his borrowed sword. The blade was not as wide as those used by his own soldiers, but the Demons' standard issue sword had its benefits. It wasn't as heavy, for one thing, and could be used with only a single hand.

A quiet knock on the door disrupted his examination, and Ilyich paused, inclining his head in that direction in an effort to sense any noise in the hallway. There were no voices and no sound of feet on the stair, but after a moment another soft knock broke through the silence of the room.

Cautiously, he stood from his chair, leaving his sword where it was but drawing a dirk from his side before moving to the door. He checked to make sure it was locked, before taking hold of the handle. He didn't turn it, continuing to listen carefully, incase the one outside was foe and not friend.

"Who is it?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"An ally," a whisper from the other side called, "sent by Our Majesty in friendship. May God bless and keep him."

Ilyich snorted. "A demon could just as easily invoke the graces of God. What proof do I have that you're not my enemy? Which king do you serve?"

A pause, then, "To speak his name would be dangerous in these troubled times, given our location."

"Some hint would suffice. Something our enemies would not know."

The voice on the other side of the door fell into silence again. Ilyich waited, his dirk still at hand, prepared to fight the man off should he attempt to force entry.

Finally, there was a response. "His Majesty secretly dines with a young courtier. Only those closest to the king, such as yourself, know of the affair. Even the Queen remains ignorant."

"The Queen is nothing more than a foolish woman. His Majesty would have done well to wed someone with more sense."

Satisfied, Ilyich unlocked the door and turned the handle, slowly easing it open and peering out through the crack. A cloaked figure greeted him through the shadows, and though his hood had been raised to hide his face from anyone who might recognize him as one of Lyron's men, Ilyich could spy familiar features. "Adla," he greeted the younger man, opening the door wider to allow him to come in. "So he's sent the paramour himself."

Adla crossed into the room, at which point Ilyich closed the door and locked it again. Safe from prying eyes, his guest lowered his hood and removed his cloak, drenched from the cold rain falling outside. "It's good to see you well," he said.

Ilyich looked him over. Adla was a young man of eighteen years, dressed in rich traveling clothes not suitable for battle. Ash brown hair met the high collar of his shirt, while pale green eyes glanced around the small room, revealing not a single thought or emotion. If Ilyich did not know him personally, he would not be impressed by what he saw, a fatal mistake many had made before. His soft face and lithe frame was Adla's greatest weapon.

"Three years since I last saw you and you've hardly changed," Ilyich observed. "You've gained a few inches, but I don't see any more weight on you. His Majesty still favors you after all this time?"

"His Majesty does me a great honor," Adla replied indifferently.

"What aid does he expect a boy to give me?"

"You trained me yourself." Sage colored eyes surveyed him. "You know best how my skills can be used. In fact, I recall you singing my praises to His Majesty on more than one occasion."

"That was before, when you were training to be the King's sword and not his sheath," Ilyich responded. "Your talents have gone to waste. You're no good to your country spreading your legs for the King."

"I am still the King's sword," Adla insisted with the smallest of frowns. "I had not realized you were so averse to the situation. Surely your disapproval would grieve His Majesty. You are his oldest friend, are you not, Lord Kurgan?"

"His Majesty knows my opinions well. I'm afraid in this instance, he's chosen to ignore them." Returning his dirk to its place by his side, Ilyich moved back to the fire to once again take his seat and continue to work on his sword. "Why has he sent you? Surely Robert would have been a better choice."

Adla didn't follow him, but remained where he was by the door. Considering the room was so small, there wasn't much distance between them to begin with. "Seeing as we are currently at war, His Majesty finds it far more beneficial to have his Chancellor by his side than to send the Duke of Grafton out of country."

"So instead he's sent his concubine."

"You underestimate me."

Ilyich laughed at the comment. "No, Louis, I'm not brainless enough to do that." Slowly, he stroked his sword over the oiled whetstone. "You said it yourself: I'm the one who trained you. I know well what you're capable of. What I don't understand is why you've suddenly decided to spend your time as the King's bedmate. You have more potential than that."

"One does not deny His Majesty."

"Ah," he made a noise of agreement. "So you have no feelings for him?"

Louis Adla paused. "If I said 'no,' my actions may be considered treasonous."

"You're no better use to me dead than you are as a whore. Whatever your answer, my opinion of you won't change."

Gradually, the younger man moved to stand by the fire. "I respect and admire His Majesty more than any man, but to speak of love would be to speak of things I have no experience in. I love him as a subject is expected to love his master, and I am honored that he holds so much interest in me, but if I were to lose His Majesty's favor, it would be my prospects that were hurt and not my feelings."

"Cold and emotionless, exactly as I trained you to be."

Louis nodded. "I requested to come when word reached us of your capture."

"And His Majesty is fond enough of you to grant the request," Ilyich observed, working the blade over the whetstone again. "Even so, he would have done better to send me more than a minor nobleman."

"Then you have not heard."

"Information is hard to come by in prison. What have I not heard?"

"His Majesty has made me a duke. Duke of Braith."

Ilyich chuckled at the revelation, but couldn't say that he was surprised. "Then you truly are his favorite."

"He knows of my skills as well as you do," Louis said, his voice never anything but neutral and monotone.

"And what skills would those be?" Ilyich asked. "I trained you how to use a sword and take a man's life, not how to please a man with your mouth."

"If I displease you, then I would be more than willing to be on my way."

"Are you alone?"

"His Majesty has placed twenty of the Black Knights under my command. I have them hiding in the forest. We have remained undetected."

Ceasing his chuckling, Ilyich looked over at Louis with a smirk on his face. "Soon he'll be giving you my job as well as my title."

"The King still values your contributions to his campaign."

"My contributions, yes," Ilyich agreed, lifting the sword before him to examine the blade. "I may be friend to the King, but if my head were to win him the Great Demon Kingdom, he would present it to the Demon King on a silver platter. _That_ is the sort of king Lyron is."

"The Demon King is negligible. He poses little threat."

"Is that what Lyron said?" Ilyich asked with another laugh, taking his scabbard and sliding the sword into it, before looking at Louis again. "Let me amend your previous thoughts about the Demon King. If there's one person in this world His Majesty underestimates, it's King Yuuri. He may seem easily vanquished, but Lyron has never seen him face-to-face."

He imagined Lyron would continue to underestimate him even if they were to cross paths. Lyron's power was also his weakness. He depended too much on his large military, thinking no man could ever successfully stand against him. He took pride from the victories Isidore had experienced in the past, without thinking they may one day face an opponent whose own power evened the odds. If the Demon King ever attained full use of his powers, he would never have a need for the large force Lyron had inherited with the throne.

"You can't tell me you've grown to fear him," Louis said, his small frown lifting into an even smaller smile.

"Fear is not an emotion I'm accustomed to experiencing. Caution is the more likely reaction," Ilyich explained, remembering his confrontation with the Demon King, the way his eyes had sparked and his entire being had been surrounded by natural power. "He'll be a stronger adversary than you or I thought. Belar only saw a fraction of his power. There's more than that, kept somewhere deep inside. If he'd used it all against Belar, Cimaron would have been decimated and we would have felt the effects in Isidore."

"No one has that much power."

"No?" Ilyich raised an eyebrow, setting his newly sharpened sword aside. "The Great One was mighty enough to harness the Originators. What makes you think the king he chose to destroy them isn't even more powerful than that?"

"Are you saying you believe the Demons have been following the will of a king who died four-thousand years ago?" Louis questioned him, cackling low in his throat. "We humans know better. To revere the Great One is to commit sacrilege. He is a false idol and no prophet."

"I've been in the Great Demon Kingdom for three years, my Duke of Braith. I think I know better than you how these people function, what their beliefs are, and if there's any shred of truth behind them. What knowledge do you have aside from what can be attained through books?"

Louis frowned again, staring at him levelly. "Are you saying our own beliefs are false?"

"I'm saying there's room for error," Ilyich elaborated. "I'm saying I know more than anyone what King Yuuri is capable of. He speaks of tolerance and peace, but when he's challenged, when the fires of his anger are stoked, he has the look of a killer in his eyes. By the end of this war, I trust you'll see just how savage he can be."

The boy the Demons had in the place of their king would be negligible on his own, but the entity within, the root of his power - that was the real Demon King. Ilyich had seen a small piece of it during the interrogation, enough to know that everything everyone had ever thought about the boy was wrong. As he was, he was hardly a threat; but if he were ever to realize his full potential, he would be a force the likes of which they had not seen since the Originators had ravaged the world.

"I'll be sure to offer you my apologies should that prove to be the case," Louis replied, sounding as unimpressed as he had from the beginning. "For now, you'll have to understand my doubts, which His Majesty and the members of his war council share."

Ilyich's only response was to shrug. He cared naught who believed him; they would all realize their folly one day.

"On a related note," his young comrade continued, "His Majesty wants Prince Wolfram."

Ilyich released another bark of laughter. "Trust Lyron to become completely infatuated with the youthful prince. He has always prized beauty. He's never even seen the bitch."

"He has been fortunate enough to acquire a portrait. It's not the most recent of pictures, but seeing as the Prince is a pure blooded Demon, his appearance will not have changed much in the last fifteen years."

"How is it that His Majesty came by this painting?"

"The King has his sources."

"In other words, King Yuuri has himself a traitor," Ilyich discerned, unless Belar had somehow come across a portrait of the previous Queen's youngest son and shared it with his master, which he highly doubted. "Who is it? I might know of him."

"I have not been privy to that information. As far as I am aware, only His Majesty and the Duke of Grafton know the man's identity."

"If it's even a man. The Demons are not against placing women in positions of power."

"I may not know the traitor's identity, but I have been told that it is a man."

"Then it could be any number of people. It's a pity whoever he is didn't think to aid me in my escape." Smirking, Ilyich lounged in his chair, amused. "Do you fear that the Prince might replace you? If His Majesty is already so infatuated with him, I imagine seeing him in person will only increase his lust."

Louis lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair out of his face. "I fear no man," he casually responded.

"Not even His Majesty?"

No reply was forthcoming, but Ilyich saw Louis's silence as answer enough. "No matter," he said, standing to join him by the fire. "We will return to Isidore and there we will make plans to capture His Majesty's prize whore. Whether he becomes the new favorite is of no concern to me. But first…"

"'First?'" One of Louis's delicate brows arched up in curiosity. "You have other plans?"

"Of course. One thing you must learn, Louis, is that I always have a plan. I'm going to pay His Majesty the Demon King one final visit."

"Is that wise, considering your current cautiousness?"

"I merely want to stoke the fires a bit higher, test his limits so as to have more information for His Majesty. You're welcome to join me if you choose."

The corners of Louis's lips quirked as the turned towards the fire, hiding his expression, but Ilyich knew that if he were to face him, he would see nothing but cold ruthlessness in his pale eyes. "Perhaps I will," the youth said calmly. "As you so eloquently observed when I arrived, it's been a while since my sword last drew blood."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Gisela apologized, keeping her voice quiet so as not to be overheard by others. "It won't be long now."

Yuuri hung his head, eyes meeting the ground as his hands clenched by his sides. Around him life went on within the camp, but inside it felt as if something was slowly dying. "How long?" he asked.

"Maybe a day or two more. His condition is worsening rapidly. We've done everything we can. Now all there's left to do is see that he's comfortable, and inform his family."

Noting the irony of it all, Yuuri laughed bitterly. "They were here only a couple of days ago."

Nastia's concern and the special smile she showed to no one but her husband were still fresh in his memory. He could hear the worry in her voice, see the love in her eyes, feel the longing that existed between them as she'd sat by her husband's side. Now that longing might never be fulfilled, and she would have to learn to live as a widow.

It wasn't fair. Karl had only gone to war because of a debt he owed, because he had no other way to make the money he needed, and because he loved his son. Now he was going to die for it, and there was nothing that could be done to give him more time. Yuuri ached with the knowledge that some time soon, whether it was tomorrow or the next day, Karl would never laugh again; those eyes he'd been so mesmerized by would close forever.

Another life would slip away, and the only thing Yuuri could do was watch.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Gisela said again, containing her own emotions. As a healer she was obligated to remain neutral, but Yuuri knew she regretted every loss of life. "I told you before that this was still a possibility. He was lucky enough to survive the surgery."

"A lot of good that did," Yuuri muttered.

"Your Majesty-"

He stopped her by lifting a hand, shaking his head to let her know he wished to hear no more. "It's alright. Just let me know if there are any updates."

Desolate, Yuuri turned to make his way from the main tent, aimlessly wandering through the camp until he came by a fire. There were people and noise everywhere he turned; there was nothing he could do and nowhere he could go to escape it, so he didn't even try. Sitting down onto the cold ground, he looked into the flames and tried to lose himself in their warmth, thinking of home, thinking of Greta and Wolfram, of his parents and his brother. But for some reason, the thought that the members of his family were alive and safe didn't console him this time as it had before. Not even the thought of Wolfram's smiling face could ease the anguish aching in his chest.

The rest of the camp was in high spirits, but Yuuri couldn't join them. Their troops along the border had engaged in battle and won, and word had spread as the injured were brought in to be healed. Conrad and Yozak had led their men to a great victory, and morale had lifted ten fold. As soon as the news had been authenticated, the celebration had begun. Wine and ale were even now being passed between the camp guards and the soldiers who were well enough to participate, as loud, jubilant voices rose in song.

_The kings of the world live on the summit._

_They have the most beautiful view, but there is a but,_

_They don't know when we think of them down below;_

_They don't know that here, it's we who are the kings._

_The kings of the world do everything they want;_

_They have the world around them, but they are alone._

_In their castles up high, they are so bored,_

_While down here we dance all through the night._

Cursing under his breath, Yuuri lifted both hands to cover his face, before sliding them up to tug at his hair, feeling his anger towards the injustice of the situation consuming him. He wanted to go home. He wanted to call an end to this war right now, throw in the towel, raise the white flag, and run back to what was comfortable. He wanted to return the troops to their families, he wanted to dry his people's tears and end their heartache. He wanted to go to Earth and live out the rest of his life in peace.

But he knew he couldn't do that; he _wouldn't_ do that. Too many people depended on him, too many people looked up to him for courage and strength. Whether he liked it or not, his people needed a reason to fight, a future to look forward to and sacrifice their lives for, or else their trials really would be for nothing. He had a responsibility to all these millions of people, and if he gave up now, if he allowed one more death to affect him as deeply as all the others had, then he was going to break and his people would no longer have the king they needed to guide the way.

_The kings of the world fear everything;_

_They can't tell the dogs from the wolves._

_They set traps that they'll fall in themselves;_

_They hide from everything, even from love._

_The kings of the world fight with each other._

_There is no room for two of them,_

_And us down here, we don't fight their wars;_

_We don't even know what these games of kings are for._

"Your Majesty," Gunter appeared across from him, probably informed of his mood by Gisela and sent to check up on him. "Do you require anything?" he asked, far from his usual exuberant self. He sounded sympathetic, consoling him with words but not actions.

"No," Yuuri said, keeping his gaze averted, never breaking from the flames. If only Wolfram were here; if only he could have him next to him, feel his arms around him. "Thank you, Gunter."

His tutor didn't back away. "Have you eaten?"

"A little while ago." As things were now, he didn't think he'd be able to stomach any more tonight.

Gunter didn't bring him food, but he did pass him a cup of wine, which Yuuri took without any argument. The cup was dinged and chipped and the wine was cheap, but if it could dull his senses then he would think it a success. He drank the cup quickly and held it out for Gunter to refill, which he did despite what Yuuri could assume was his better judgment.

"You are unhappy," the older man observed, sitting across from him as Yuuri gulped down his second cup.

"What's there to be happy about?" Yuuri asked, ignoring the change in song. "We won one battle, not the war. People are still dying."

"Death is a part of life," Gunter explained. "It is the natural end of all things."

"Yeah, when people are old, when they've actually had the chance to live. These men aren't dying naturally, Gunter, they're being killed. And then what? They're buried and forgotten."

It seemed a poor consolation. To live so briefly, only to be forgotten as the world went on without them.

"Not forgotten, Your Majesty," his tutor denied. "Never forgotten, at least not by those whose lives they affected. I still remember every man I trained who lost his life in battle, just as Conrart still remembers his fallen comrades, and just as you will remember the men you've cared for here. Yes, time may lessen the sense of loss, but the memories will always remain, and so too shall the proof of their lives."

"That's not much of a comfort." For the one who remembers will die as well, and take his memories with him.

Yuuri shook his head, tempted to pour himself another cup of wine, before deciding against it. No matter what he did, no matter how he tried to hide from it, nothing was going to take away the pain. He knew that well enough by now. It was something he would have to accept and live with indefinitely, and hope that with time it would come to hurt less.

Resentfully, he tossed his cup to the side, not caring where it landed or if it was damaged further, pushing himself to his feet. "Never mind. I'm going to bed. Wake me if something happens, otherwise I'll see you in the morning."

If Gunter tried to say something else, he didn't hear it. He turned to make his way to his tent before his tutor and current guardian could call him back to the fireside, entering only to remove his armor on his own. He dropped the pieces with abandon, hearing them clink and clatter where they fell, before stripping off his dirty clothes. He'd given up wearing anything to bed after a month; his pajamas were washed as rarely as his day clothes, and stank just as bad. Naked, he slipped between the blankets piled on the unforgiving ground, intending to remain there until morning.

Sighing deeply and lying on his back, he raised his arms to pillow his head with his hands, staring up and into nothing. Few thoughts crossed his mind as he waited for sleep to claim him, listening to the caroling men as they drank the night away. At least they were able to forget the danger; at least they were able to ignore the losses, if only for the night. They deserved a few hours of respite before returning to their duties and once again facing the darkness of war.

If only Yuuri could join them. If only he could find something to be happy about, something to celebrate.

He didn't know if it was the wine or if exhaustion was taking its toll, but before long he was drifting off. His dreams were no better than reality, for in them he saw just as much blood and experienced just as much death. Instead of Karl lying pale and ghostly in his bed, or any number of faceless soldiers lying dead in the field, he saw Conrad punctured by a multitude of arrows, or Gwendal brutalized by canon fire, or Gunter fallen and broken, or Yozak hung in chains. He saw Greta crying bloody tears, and Wolfram bathing in a pool of red, empty eyes staring into a moonless sky.

There was blood everywhere. No matter where he looked or which way he turned, the carnage was always present. It surrounded him, consumed him, making his insides throb with anger - at himself, at his enemies, at the entire world. Bloody tears, bloody rain, flesh piled on flesh; screaming, shouting, pleading; running, burning, dying. Even in his dreams, he could smell the scent of death, the revolting stink of rotting corpses, lining the streets, filling the graveyards; with each fallen man, the world grew a little bit darker.

He could not change his dreams, nor could he wake from them. They'd ceased to be just nightmares long ago. Now they were with him every time he closed his eyes. The less bloody they were, the more pleasant his sleep was; the more carnal, the more he wished to wake and never sleep again. Sometimes there were peaceful interludes of pure blackness, and if he was lucky Wolfram would come to him in a shroud of light and he would awaken with "I love you" whispered in his ear instead of pleas for mercy.

Wolfram did not come to him this night, as much as he would have liked him to. The more time passed and the more death he saw, the harder it became to remember the sound of Wolfram's voice in their quiet moments together. It had only been a month and he was already forgetting what it was like to be held in warm arms, against a solid chest, with kisses pressed against his hair. He was forgetting what it felt like to have Wolfram's hand in his, what it felt like to crush their mouths together and lose track of everything save the two of them.

The "I love you"s sounded farther and farther away, fading with time and distance. Yuuri feared that one day he would awaken and the image of his husband would cease to cross his mind at all. He was afraid that he would become so weary and embittered that he would forget everything good, everything that made life worthwhile, everything he cherished and hoped for, and all that would remain would be hate and anger and the burning need for revenge.

Something disturbed his dreams and brought him into consciousness late into the night. In his delirium he thought it might be thunder - it wouldn't be the first time a storm had come through - but as he grew more aware he began to hear other things. There were far off screams, piercing the late autumn air, and shouts erupting between medic and soldier alike as the camp came alive. The joyful singing had died out, only to be replaced by dread and panic.

Rubbing his forehead and trying to come back to himself, Yuuri made himself focus on the voices outside. He tried to pick out their words, but there was too much to register properly. He heard an order to saddle some horses, to make ready, to arm themselves, but the reasons for it were lost in all the commotion. His only clue were the screams originating in the countryside, and the loud explosions he'd previously mistaken for thunder.

He sat up in his pile of blankets quickly, grabbing for the clothes he'd discarded only hours ago, beginning to yank them on as Gunter barged in with a loud, "Your Majesty!"

"Gunter!" he called in return, pulling his shirt over his head. "What was that?!"

"It's the village, Your Majesty! The village is under attack!"

Such news may have frozen him in shock before, but the surprise had long worn off by now. He continued to dress rapidly, picking up the pieces of his armor and attempting to strap them into place. "Help me into my armor!" he demanded, knowing he wouldn't be able to complete the task on his own.

"Your Majesty," Gunter's voice was beseeching, "you must not jump into the fray! If the human soldiers were to see you-"

"Damn it, Gunter, that's an order!" he bellowed, with more strength than anyone had probably ever expected from him. "You know they already know I'm here!"

Gunter looked to be battling with himself, but after the order was issued he had no other choice. Yuuri stood as patiently as he could while his armor was fastened into place, listening and trying not to imagine anything too horrible, though he knew for once his imaginings were probably closer to the truth than he would like. As soon as Gunter had finished, Yuuri grabbed Morgif and sprinted out of his tent without another thought, leaving his tutor behind to shout after him.

"Your Majesty! Your helmet!"

He didn't turn back for it, or wait for the older man to catch up. He saw a soldier saddling a horse and took it from him as soon as he was through, climbing into the saddle fully armored without any assistance, and taking the reins to turn the horse and head off into the direction of the village. What once had been nothing more than the dark shapes of houses on the horizon was now being devoured by flames, rising high into the air and illuminating the dark night. The smoke blotted out the stars, and only a small sliver of moonlight shone from above.

Yuuri sped his horse toward the devastation as fast as the animal could take him, arriving in less time than he'd had to formulate a plan. He pulled the horse to a stop as soon as he entered the streets, looking around as he realized he had no idea what he was going to do. Already some of his soldiers were engaging in combat with their enemies, who he could clearly see were dressed in black clothing under gleaming black armor. More than a few bodies littered the streets, as the buildings around him burned to the ground.

He turned his horse, taking in the scene as his addled brain worked to think of something to do. Finally, he summoned as much magic as he could, controlling what particles of water he could find, and using it to douse the flames. Shouts of "Your Majesty!" joined the screaming and wailing of the civilians, his soldiers quickly beginning to notice that he had arrived and was unprotected. Strangely, none of the men in black sought to approach him. He saw a few look his way, smirking in what he could only assume was delight, but not a single one attempted to attack him.

He would have thought it strange had he not seen Ilyich among them. As his eyes settled on the man, he thought it must have been through some order by him that the enemy soldiers failed to advance on him.

Yuuri paused when he saw him, standing smugly in the town square with his sword drawn, already wet with blood. A younger man stood beside him, brown haired and pale and like nothing Yuuri would have expected to see murdering innocents, but he too carried a bloodied sword, and wore black armor that was in stark contrast to his ethereal appearance.

The younger man was saying something, but Ilyich was staring straight at Yuuri, and Yuuri didn't even try to look away. He watched as Ilyich's smirk grew, before he was saying something in response to his partner and backing slowly away. Yuuri sat motionless atop his horse, waiting to see what he would do. The younger man turned to glance quickly in his direction, before heading off to another region of the village, and Yuuri was left to face Ilyich on his own.

The escaped prisoner sheathed his sword, then lifted a hand to motion for Yuuri to follow, pivoting to enter one of the few buildings untouched by flames.

Yuuri's insides twisted as he watched him go, taking only a moment to consider the consequences of his actions before dismounting and following him.

The building he came to was a quaint, single-story house. Some of the windows had been broken and the front door had been forced open, hanging on its hinges. Yuuri carefully stepped over the broken glass, drawing Morgif in case he should need to defend himself. He peered into the small sitting room with it's broken and overturned furniture, and, seeing no one, made his way inside.

A scream issued from the back of the house, followed by pleading sobs. "Please, spare my son!"

Yuuri's eyes widened when he recognized the voice, his steps becoming quicker as he vaulted over a fallen table and burst into one of the back rooms. "Stay away from her!"

Ilyich had Nastia by the arm, a dagger held in his free hand and pointed at her threateningly. Nastia's face was streaked red with tears, as she placed herself between Ilyich and the cradle containing her wailing child. Yuuri couldn't see Merry behind them, so he didn't know if he'd been hurt, but he knew that even a baby as young as he was would be frightened by the noise and activity around him.

"Your Majesty!" Nastia gasped when she saw him, and the relief she experienced at the sight of him was hard to mistake.

"Ahh," Ilyich drawled, turning to smirk at him again. "Your Majesty. What a pleasant surprise."

Something about the casual sound of his voice made it seem to Yuuri as if he were hardly surprised at all. He shouldn't be, considering they'd eyed one another on the street, but Yuuri had a feeling it went further than that. Ilyich had drawn him out purposefully.

"Let her go," Yuuri said, taking a few cautious steps closer, holding Morgif in front of him, fully prepared to use him if he had to.

Ilyich ignored him. "How are you, Your Majesty?" he asked condescendingly. "Are you enjoying this war?"

"Let her go," Yuuri commanded again, sweaty hands gripping tighter to the hilt of his sword.

Nastia looked at him in supplication. "Your Majesty, please…"

Her captor held Yuuri's gaze for a moment longer, his smirk wild and ferocious, before glancing back at her. "That's enough from you."

Yuuri had no time to react. Even if he had, he wouldn't have been able to get close enough to stop him. Ilyich took his dagger and pulled it over Nastia's throat, opening it with a deep gash and spilling her blood all over himself and the floor. Nastia couldn't even scream, it happened so quickly. She choked once, then fell into a heap when Ilyich released her, dark red blood forming a puddle around her.

"No!" Yuuri shouted, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, Nastia was gone.

Anger filled him, stronger and more potent than it ever had before. His entire body shook with it, his teeth gritting together as he stared at the body on the floor, tears springing into his eyes to blur his vision. "You bastard!"

Never in his life had he wanted to bring harm to others; never had he sought to purposefully injure anyone. But as he saw Nastia's life draining out of her, as he remembered what this man had done to his family, and as Ilyich continued to stand there, smirking guiltlessly over what he'd just done, Yuuri felt the unmistakable need to hurt him, maim him, beat him until he begged for forgiveness - only he knew he never would.

He wanted revenge - for Karl, for Nastia, for their baby, for Wolfram and Greta, and for all the other innocent people these men had injured or killed in the name of their savage king.

"Did you know her, Your Majesty?" Ilyich goaded him, putting his dagger away and drawing his sword to replace it. Heedlessly, he stepped over the woman at his feet, his boots making bloody footprints on the floor. "What a pity," he said, his grin feral. "Does she remind you of your own little family? What is your daughter's name? Greta, it is?"

"Leave her out of this!" Yuuri ground out, feeling his face grow suddenly wet as his vision continued to blur. His hands trembled around Morgif, his feet rooted to the spot as Ilyich came closer.

"Such a pretty little girl," he declared. "And what of your prince?" he changed tactics, testing him, seeing what would provoke him the most. "I regret being captured so soon. I would have liked to try him before you work up the courage to be a proper husband. Luckily, His Majesty already has plans to acquire him for himself. Perhaps then I'll have the opportunity."

With a cry of madness and overwhelming fury, Yuuri charged his opponent, swinging his sword in a blind rage.

Ilyich blocked it easily, casually lifting his arm so that their blades met, then forcing him back with a laugh. "Fortunate is the man in possession of something so sweet. Seeing your prince struggle was arousing, to say the least," he added, waiting for the next attack. "Now we know how to weaken little Prince Wolfram. Threaten his daughter's life and he'll submit to anything. His Majesty will surely find that to be valuable information. Perhaps he'll want your daughter, too."

"You son of a bitch!"

Yuuri charged a second time, his blood pumping furiously through his entire body, causing his extremities to tingle as his head throbbed. Even as he attacked, lashing out with more skill than he usually showed when his emotions grew too strong, Yuuri could feel something inside of himself awakening. It guided him, leading him left and right, forward and back, as his and Ilyich's swords danced together.

"My, what foul language! But these are your true colors, are they not, Your Majesty?" Ilyich crowed, seeming to take far too much enjoyment in the enmity being directed toward him. "Will he struggle with you?" he wondered, parrying an attack. "Or will he willingly open himself to you and grant you what belongs to you?"

Metal clashed against metal. Yuuri could hear each blow ring in his hears. Every sound that Morgif made punctuated each strike. The sounds from the burning village seemed far away, fading as his attention focused on one man. Even Merry's loud wails seemed to be nothing but background noise.

"Or maybe…" Ilyich trailed off momentarily, shoving Yuuri back a few steps. "Maybe you'll be the one to spread your legs for him," he theorized, his grin ever present and growing wider. "It's too bad your Chief Adviser had to come in when he did. Your reaction was amusing enough. What would it have been had you seen that someone else had used your pretty whore?"

"I told you what I'd do to you if you ever hurt him again!" Yuuri spat, chest heaving, narrowed eyes stinging with unshed tears, as the ones that had already fallen dried and reddened his face.

"Would you have me killed, gentle king? Or are you too weak to stomach it?" he asked, taunting. They stood before one another, and as Yuuri glared at him darkly, Ilyich spread his arms wide, giving him the chance, the perfect opportunity. "He's still in danger, you know."

Yuuri paused, his eyes widening, and his breath catching in his throat.

"I have other men keeping close tabs on what occurs within your castle. All it would take is a single order…"

More tears spilled out, and Yuuri had to hold his breath to contain a sob. "If you touch him, I'll-"

"He'd do anything to service his king, wouldn't he? Even pretend to love you for the sake of the kingdom?"

"What the hell do you know?!" Yuuri growled, and began the onslaught anew.

Ilyich fended him off easily, mocking him with his laughter and with the adeptness with which he deflected his blows. Yuuri's only thought was to stop him before he did any more harm to others. Greta had been terrorized, Wolfram had been abused, as Nastia lay dead underfoot, and if Ilyich got through him, Yuuri knew he would only continue his barbaric deeds. Someone had to put an end to it.

He couldn't let him execute his threats. If there really were people watching the castle, he couldn't allow Ilyich to issue any orders, and to prevent that he would have to subdue him. Rashly, he thought he should have authorized Gwendal to decide his fate when he'd been held prisoner, even if it would have ended in an execution. This wouldn't have happened if he'd only listened to his advisers. Ilyich never would have escaped, he never would have been given the chance to reunite with his men and plan something like this, all the while keeping the cloud of danger over his loved ones in the capital.

His attacks became careless. The latent aura that had been leading him up until now was still guiding his movements, and some credit could be given to Morgif as well, who seemed to know how to block and parry without much direction from Yuuri, but mistakes were easy to make against Ilyich. Before he knew it, Yuuri found himself defending more and more, forced farther back, until there was very little room for him to move. Ilyich was bearing down on him with a fierce gleam in his eye, attacking over and over, and Yuuri could only block and think nothing of countering.

With an impact that had one of his wrists snapping back with a crack, Morgif was knocked from his hands and skidded across the floor out of his reach. In the next moment, Ilyich swung out with his empty hand, catching him on the side of the head with a black gauntlet. Yuuri's vision faded as he collapsed to the floor in a clamor of heavy armor, before it slowly came back into fuzzy focus. A splitting pain filled his head, and he felt the slow slide of liquid trickle down the side of his face.

Ilyich kicked him hard in the gut with the sole of his foot, which Yuuri felt even through the protective metal. He gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs, twisting to shield himself, only to be forced onto his back as the same foot met his chest and held him down, grinding into the coat-of-arms engraved into his breastplate.

"You're already losing this war," the man told him, leering down at him before removing his foot and stepping back. "Now let's end this racket and I'll be on my way."

Slowly, keeping his eyes locked with Yuuri's the entire time, Ilyich moved back towards the cradle, where Merry remained crying.

"No," Yuuri wheezed out weakly, pushing himself up only to collapse again as his injured wrist gave out and refused to support him, splinters of pain shooting up his arm.

"I'll let you live for now, Demon King. His Majesty wouldn't be pleased if I were to kill you in his place. I don't have that right."

Ilyich made it to the cradle, lifting his sword to hold it up and point it down at the crying child. He smiled at Yuuri one last time, before quickly stabbing down.

"NO!"

But he needn't have done anything. As Ilyich thrust down, a soft red glow emitted from the cradle, deflecting the sword and preventing it from reaching its intended target. Ilyich let out a shout of surprised pain, dropping his weapon with a clatter and stumbling back, holding onto the hand that had been gripping the hilt. Even from where he lay, Yuuri could see bright welts on blistering flesh. Ilyich's hand had been burned.

"What the hell?!"

Thwarted and angered by the obstruction, the man reached out for the child without his sword, as if he intended to strangle him with his bare hands, only to be met with the same obstacle. Yuuri watched, amazed, as an obvious magical barrier formed itself around the howling baby, shocking Ilyich and causing him to back away.

It was enough for Yuuri to regain his senses. His focus sharpened, and he was able to clamber to his feet while supporting himself with his good hand, his palm flat against the wall for leverage. Once he was mobile again, he looked around for his sword, but instead of running to it he called, "Morgif!"

Morgif heeded the unspoken command and flew into his grasp. This time it was Ilyich who was caught off guard, and Ilyich who had to defend himself from Yuuri's relentless offense. He charged, his mind empty of all thought, his body thrumming with power, raw energy practically seeping from his pores, glowing blue around him. Ilyich drew his dagger, but it wasn't enough. Yuuri beat him back, hacking at him as ruthlessly as Ilyich had treated his many victims, until he crashed against the side wall.

Desperation fueled Ilyich's movements. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw the dagger coming for him, but his instincts had heightened and his reactions were quicker. Ignoring the pain in his left arm, he grabbed onto Ilyich's wrist, gripping it and twisting to have him drop the knife. At the same time he drove Morgif forward, and through a weakness in his vile black armor, the blade pierced Ilyich's torso and pushed in deep.

Yuuri's eyes widened at the same time Ilyich's did, and they looked at one another across the meager distance between them. It was Ilyich who broke the gaze, his eyes shifting down to take in his wound. Morgif stuck out of him, though Yuuri's grip on him had loosened somewhat as he slowly began to realize what he'd just done.

Ilyich chuckled, deep and dark, before looking straight at Yuuri again and smirking, a thin stream of blood oozing from the corner of his lips. Reaching out, he gripped onto the sword with one hand and Yuuri's shoulder with the other, grunting as he pulled himself forward onto the blade, close enough to whisper into Yuuri's ear.

"Glory to His Majesty Lyron Aurelius, the first of his name," he croaked, holding Yuuri in place, "by the Grace of God, King of Isidore and Conqueror of the Great Demon Kingdom." He paused, and Yuuri heard a gurgling in his ear before Ilyich coughed and spewed blood down the side of his neck. "Long live the King."

His body slumped against him. Feeling the dead weight, Yuuri released his hold on Morgif and backed away. Ilyich fell to the floor, his body landing close to the motionless heap that was Nastia Brandt.

He had little time to react. As soon as the light left his eyes, Ilyich's soul departed from his body, and Morgif, craving human life, consumed it.

"Shit!"

Yuuri jumped back as Morgif activated and an explosion of power rocked the house, blasting through part of the roof and causing some of the beams supporting it to cave in. Remembering Merry, Yuuri returned to the cradle's side and placed his body over top of it, shielding the baby from any falling debris. Whatever aura had been guarding Merry against Ilyich had faded, leaving him vulnerable and undefended, his face bright from the exertion of weeping so uncontrollably for so long.

Reaching into the cradle, Yuuri lifted him up and into his arms, holding him close as the house began to fall down around them. Peering through the wreckage and smoke as Morgif's release of energy caused the wood to burst into flames, Yuuri fought for a way out, determined to keep at least part of his promise to his injured friend, and return his son to him unharmed.

"Morgif, stop!" he shouted, lifting his wounded arm to shield his head as another beam fell close by.

The sword heard his command and ceased as quickly as it had engaged, but the damage had been done. Moving forward, Yuuri took Morgif by the hilt and pulled him from Ilyich's body, trying not to look at the corpse as he began to make his way from the room, dodging debris and burning furniture as he went.

He made it into the street before the building collapsed completely, his body wracked with harsh coughs from the smoke he'd inhaled. He took a few deep gulps of air, only to cough again as even more smoke filled his lungs from the burning village around him. Merry flailed in his arms, limbs swinging wildly as he cried. Yuuri tightened his hold to keep from dropping him, and with a shuddering breath he turned to make his way out of the town.

The battle had ended. The fires had not been put out, but he saw no more men in black. Bodies of peasants and soldiers alike filled the streets, some blackened from burns, others pale from loss of blood. Yuuri kept his eyes averted, not wanting to see or think of anything, and in his haste he ended up tripping. He fell to his knees, and barely managed to keep himself from careening forward and crushing Merry beneath him, holding the baby with one arm and using the other to catch himself, stabbing Morgif into the ground for support and hissing as pain shot up from his wrist again.

Turning to see what had caused his stumble, Yuuri choked on a scream when he caught sight of a severed hand, kicking it away from him in his fright before scrambling backwards, his armor scraping against the ground.

"Your Majesty!"

A bevy of familiar voices called through the destruction, and Yuuri forced himself to his feet once again, carrying the baby and dragging his sword along with him as he headed in the direction of the desperate calls.

He saw Gunter first, his white clothing standing out through the scene of the massacre like a beacon of light. He tried to hail him, but when he opened his mouth to shout a fit of coughing overtook his words. His tutor heard him regardless, his panicked expression changing to one of relief as he made his way over, hair disheveled and clothes bloodstained and torn.

"Your Majesty, where have you been?! I searched nearly the entire village but couldn't find you! I thought… I don't even want to speak the thoughts that crossed my mind, but-"

He was interrupted as another figure came into view, large and hulking, and Yuuri looked up into bright blue eyes set into a severe face.

"A-Adalbert!" he breathed in surprise, barely able to get his name out around his constricted airways. "Wh-What…?"

"Your husband sent me," the big blond man explained, looking a little less mussed than Gunter, but with just as much blood on his clothes. "I've been ordered to retrieve you and bring you home safely. It seems he no longer wishes for you to put yourself in danger here."

Yuuri couldn't exactly argue in his current state, and only nodded before choking on another cough.

"Yuuri!"

It was then that Conrad appeared through the smoke and flames, and Yuuri thought he would never be so happy to see anyone in his entire life. He led a group of soldiers, all of whom had their swords drawn, and some of which were leading and supporting injured comrades and civilians. Conrad came forward, and Yuuri felt the rest of his energy leave him, dropping Morgif at his side and collapsing against his godfather's chest. Conrad caught him easily, keeping both he and Merry from sliding to the ground.

Someone started shouting orders, but Yuuri's mind grew foggy and he couldn't tell who it was - Gunter, or Adalbert, or Conrad. His body seemed to be shutting down, and with the decrease in adrenaline came the full brunt of his pain. His wrist throbbed and his chest ached from being kicked, his breastplate dented inward, distorting the golden coat-of-arms. A pounding in his head reminded him of the wound at his temple, the side of his face sticky with his own blood.

Gunter carefully took Merry from him while Conrad helped him to his feet, and Yuuri grabbed hold of Morgif again as Conrad slung an arm around him to support him as they walked. Together, they headed out of the village, homes and buildings still burning behind them.

There weren't enough horses for all of them, as many of them had been slaughtered or ran from the scene in fright, so only those having difficulty walking were allowed to ride, while the rest of them ambled to the medical station on foot. Someone offered Yuuri a mount, but he refused, leaning close against Conrad's side and absorbing extra strength from his presence.

Farther away from the town, the night was cold. A frigid breeze rustled the dying grass and cooled Yuuri's overheated body. He shivered, his teeth chattering as sweat dried against his skin. It was refreshing, and helped to clear his head, but he quickly found that that was a state he didn't want his mind to be in, for with greater consciousness came the ability for thought.

"I killed him," he said in a trembling voice, feeling he full weight of the action finally settle on him.

Conrad looked at him in surprise. "Who?" he asked, keeping his own voice as soothing as possible.

Yuuri swallowed thickly, and tears were quick to fill his eyes again as the night's events replayed themselves. "Ilyich," he replied, taking a shaky breath. "I killed him."

He'd done it for the good of others - for Merry, Nastia, and Karl, for Wolfram and Greta - but it didn't make him feel accomplished, or in any way proud of his actions. He knew that with his death, Ilyich would never be able to hurt anyone he cared about again, but that didn't make the killing right. Even when he was able to scrub the grime and sweat from his body, even when his hands were back to their normal state - calloused, but free of dirt and ash - the blood would forever remain, if only in his memory.

Conrad said nothing, but Yuuri felt the arm around him tighten as he continued to lead him back to the cluster of tents. Yuuri allowed the silence, staring sightlessly ahead as the medical station grew closer.

Healers ran in every direction, and Gisela could be heard issuing orders somewhere close by. A few of the tents had been knocked over, and the dead and wounded were being separated into their respective groups. The wounded were taken into the main tent to receive treatment, and Conrad steered him in that direction. The bodies of the dead were lined up outside, to make room for the patients that could actually be saved.

It was when Yuuri saw Karl's body, pale and lifeless among them, that he finally broke.

His knees gave out beneath him mid-stride and he fell to the ground, slamming his fists into the dirt, injured wrist and all. He screamed, loud and unrestrained, as his anger finally gave way to agony. He cried openly, and with his tears fell a cold rain, as dark clouds rumbled into view.

It washed away the blood, rivers of pink that dampened and puddled the ground, but it did not purify the world, nor did it absolve him of his sins.

Yuuri shouted and cried until his throat grew raw and his body grew weak. Eventually, he lowered himself onto the muddy earth as his retainers shouted his name. He ignored them, and sobbed out his guilt and sorrow as it rained and rained and rained.

**TBC…**

**

* * *

A/N: **The song the soldiers were singing earlier was a translation of the song _Les Rois du Monde_ from the musical _Romeo et Juliette_. It's not completely literal, but… close enough.


	22. Absoudre

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and sexual exploration/experimentation.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Rating:** M.

**A/N: **As always, please ignore Season Three and all OVAs.

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty-Two - Absoudre - To Absolve**

The first snow began to fall just as Yuuri and his companions rode through the gates into the capital city. The sky was gray, covered by a thick layer of clouds, and the flakes that fell from them were fat and white. They melted soon after hitting the much traveled streets, but the snowy season was only just beginning. By the end of it, Yuuri suspected the entire city would be camouflaged beneath a cold, wet blanket.

Their journey from the medical station back to the capital had taken longer than his travels the other way. Poor weather had hampered them, as a steady rain beat down and thunder crashed overhead while lightning split through the sky, making it impossible to attempt a safe return. They'd been forced to stop until the storm had finally passed. The air had become colder then, freezing during the day and far below that at night, and the world had grown eerily quiet as the snow came to replace the rain.

Yuuri was happy for the new clothing he'd been provided with a day into their voyage home. Conrad had gone out early one morning when they'd stayed the night at an inn, and had come back with new pants, a shirt, a thick jacket, a new pair of gloves and warmer boots, and a fur cape. He still wore a few pieces of his armor beneath the jacket and cape, especially his breastplate - which had been hammered back into something like its original shape - but he'd been happy to slip into fresh clothes, and the garments kept him relatively warm as they rode through the countryside.

Merry was with Gunter, bundled in as many warm blankets as they could find and wearing ill-fitting clothes that Conrad had purchased with Yuuri's own. Gunter had removed his cape and used the cloth to fashion a sling, which he wore around his shoulders to keep the baby close to his chest. It freed his hands and allowed him to take the reins, and Merry was too tightly swaddled to wriggle around. He whined and cried at the restriction, but it was necessary until they were no longer traveling by horse.

Yuuri would have liked to carry him, but both Conrad and Gunter had been against it. His injured wrist had been set and wrapped, and though he still had mobility in his fingers, his advisers would rather he not be further hindered by a squalling baby. Once they were home, he would see that Merry was freed, so that he may crawl around to his heart's content and become acquainted with what Yuuri intended to be his new home.

The streets were mostly empty as they rode through. The large crowds that had overseen his departure had diminished, leaving only a few people behind in their place. The market was open so that the townsfolk could buy or trade for required goods, but most preferred to remain indoors by their fires. Those that were present shouted and cheered as he passed, a few children laughing and running behind the horses until their mothers called them back, and the town mayor removed his cap and bowed outside his residence.

Yuuri tried to show some sort of a reaction in response to his people's delight, but the most he could manage was a bland expression and a weak smile. His heart didn't lift the way it had when he'd left, when the entire populace of the capital had gathered to bid him farewell. His thoughts were still back at the medical station and the nearby town, where new experiences had been gained, and he'd lost so much.

The portcullis was raised as they ascended the summit, and they crossed through without incident. Yuuri gazed up at Blood Pledge Castle as they came upon the entrance, flags proudly waving and surrounded by its impressive ramparts. Little evidence remained of the explosion that had wracked the wall six weeks earlier, but Yuuri knew not to think any longer that his castle was impregnable. Glancing around, he studied the guards at their posts, the groomsmen that came to handle the horses, the servants keeping the grounds, and he wondered who among them could be trusted.

He'd left for war with a firm belief in all those who served him. He came back now watchful and suspicious. Ilyich may be gone, but his men were still at large. Any one of the men he saw around him could be a spy, a traitor, and with their influence they'd fall into Lyron's trap again.

"Your Majesty…" Conrad had dismounted already, and came to aid him in lowering from his saddle. Yuuri accepted the help and stepped down carefully, releasing a sigh as he finally set foot. His month away from home had passed slowly. It felt like years since he'd last seen the familiar castle.

"How are you holding up?" his godfather asked - low, so that others wouldn't hear them.

"Fine," Yuuri said, continuing to look around, but, seeing no one that appeared out of place, he was forced to yield and consider that his worries may be turning into paranoia.

"You should go inside. Warm up by the fire," Conrad suggested, while Adalbert and Gunter dismounted as well.

He was about to respond when the doors to the entrance hall burst open, his attention immediately drawn to the figure that rushed out.

"Yuuri!"

Wolfram ran to him, taking the steps two at a time, his hair catching on a cold breeze. Yuuri stood in place and watched him, taking the moment to look him over and make sure nothing more had happened to him in his absence. He had purple smudges under his eyes and his skin looked paler than it had before, but there were no other visible maladies. His eyes were bloodshot, but still bright and clear, and his smile caused a flutter in Yuuri's heart that he had not felt since before he left. Part of the coldness inside warmed, some of his sorrow ebbed, and Yuuri opened his arms to greet his husband.

Wolfram barreled into him, nearly jumping onto him once he was close enough and wrapping his arms around his neck, while Yuuri's slipped comfortably around his waist. Wolfram's head went to his shoulder, nuzzling his face against the side of his neck, and Yuuri lowered his head down to rest it atop Wolfram's, inhaling the sweet scent of his hair. "Careful," he whispered, cautious of the pain the impact with his armor might cause him, but Wolfram seemed unaffected.

His husband was half dressed. His jacket was nowhere to be seen, though his shirt had yet to be undone, and he'd gone without shoes, his feet clad only in silk stockings. Yuuri doubted he'd been going around the castle in such a state all day, and could only assume he'd been undressing for bed when he'd seen or been told that they had arrived.

"Stupid," he murmured, pulling back after a few moments to remove his cloak, draping it over Wolfram's shoulders instead. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I won't," Wolfram denied, though he allowed the separation. With the slight distance, green eyes swept over his frame. A pale hand reached out to gently touch his wrist, before his gaze lifted to the bandage along his temple. "You're injured," he observed, his smile fading as worry took the place of his happiness. "What happened?"

Yuuri frowned, his memories returning, but he didn't speak. Instead, he looked past Wolfram to see two other figures descending the steps, one in black and one in green. "It's nothing," he brushed off Wolfram's unease. "Just a scratch."

"'Just a scratch'? That's hardly a scratch! Look at your wrist! It's broken!"

Yuuri's gaze shifted down to it, but he couldn't bother himself to be concerned by it. "It's not very bad. Gisela said it would heal in no time. Give it four weeks tops and I'll be fine."

There was something missing in his voice, something his quality of speech lacked; even he could hear it. Everything he said sounded flat and unemotional.

Wolfram wasn't oblivious to it, as his expression grew more concerned, but instead of questioning Yuuri again, he turned a glare on Adalbert. "I thought I told you to bring him back unharmed," he said.

"I can't help that he'd already gotten himself hurt by the time I arrived," the larger blond with a shrug. "I didn't plan on wandering in during the middle of an attack."

"An attack? When was there an attack?" Wolfram's voice had raised considerably, and he quickly turned his attention back to Yuuri. "And that's how you got like this? Why didn't anyone tell me?" He paused, glancing back at his oldest brother, who'd come to a stop with Murata on the bottom step. "Did you know?"

"Conrart sent a message before they departed from the medical station. It arrived by carrier pigeon two days ago."

"And when were you going to tell me?"

"I asked him not to," Conrad answered in Gwendal's place.

"Why?" Wolfram demanded, glaring at his second brother.

Yuuri could sense an argument brewing and his head began to ache. He was glad to be home, but this wasn't something he wanted to talk about so soon. He didn't know why Conrad had told Gwendal not to tell Wolfram about what happened, unless he expected Yuuri would want to tell his husband on his own. Yuuri wasn't sure that he wanted to, and would rather put off that conversation for however long it took him to come to terms with it on his own.

"Because I didn't want you to know about it." It was only half a lie, and Yuuri was momentarily glad for the lack of any real feeling in his voice. At least Wolfram wouldn't be able to tell he wasn't telling the entire truth. "I didn't want to worry you. I wanted to tell you myself," he continued, before figuring a truncated version of the story might satisfy Wolfram for the time being. "The village near where we were stationed was attacked by Lyron's men. I went to help and had an accident, that's all."

"'An accident'?" Wolfram didn't look entirely convinced, but he was no longer yelling and his hand went to Yuuri's temple, and Yuuri felt the soft warmth of healing magic through the bandages.

"I'm fine," he tried to reassure him, forcing a smile. "Don't worry about it."

"But-"

"Wolfram!" he said, a little more firmly than he'd intended. Green eyes widened a bit at his tone, and he quickly attempted to smooth over his harshness. "I'm fine," he told him again. "Drop it, please."

He could tell that Wolfram wasn't satisfied, but the questions didn't continue. Wolfram looked up at him with a sad and disappointed frown, and Yuuri could see that he'd hurt him. He shifted his gaze away guiltily and tried not to let it affect him. Was it really so bad that he didn't want to think about it right now, that he'd rather go about things as he normally would and at least pretend that nothing had happened?

Luckily, he didn't have to worry about Wolfram for too long. Greta came dashing out of the castle moments later. She contained herself a bit better than Wolfram had, not quite jumping on him but still wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Yuuri, I missed you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with happiness and excitement. "I'm so glad you're home!"

"How are you?" he asked, hugging her back and feeling much relief now to be home and see with his own eyes that his family was safe.

"I'm fine. Are you? You're hurt. Do you need anything? I can find something for the pain!"

Yuuri was quick to deny that he was in need of anything, and thankfully didn't have to argue with her about it. Merry chose that moment to start fussing again, letting out a shriek of dissatisfaction that had everyone turning in his direction. Gunter winced at the volume of it and took him out of the make-shift sling, and Greta gasped before squealing in delight and bouncing over to him.

"He's so cute!" she gushed, leaning in to peer at Merry with a bright smile on her face. "It is a boy, isn't it?"

"His name's Merriel, but his parents called him 'Merry,'" Yuuri said, moving over to him as well.

"And where are his parents?" Wolfram wondered, following him. He still looked very displeased, but he joined Greta in her curious examination of the baby.

Yuuri swallowed thickly and tried not to sound too affected by the answer he had to give. "His mom and dad died in the attack."

Wolfram's frown deepened and he seemed to want to ask more, but Greta merely cooed at Merry and tried to shush him. "Poor thing. He must have been so scared." She reached out to take him from Gunter, and started to undo his swaddling.

Merry stopped crying and looked up at her with large blue eyes, his little mouth parted in curiosity. His face was red from his wailing, and he whimpered quietly, but he calmed more as Greta set about freeing him. One of his arms slipped out of its confines first, and he reached out with a grasping hand to touch her curly brown hair.

"Hi, Merry! My name's Greta. Can you say 'Greta'?"

"Gerrrrrr," he gurgled.

She laughed at him, and Yuuri smiled despite himself. "He can't really talk all that much yet. He's just starting to crawl," he told her, reaching out to take Merry from her. She gave the baby to him, and Yuuri had an awkward time figuring out how to hold him correctly.

Murata left Gwendal's side and came over to join them, intrigued. "Why is it that you always manage to come back with strays?" he asked, peering at Merry closely.

Merry looked right back at him. His wiggling ceased and his eyes sparkled. With a hearty giggle, his freed arm shot out and grabbed onto Murata's glasses, trying to yank them off of his face.

Murata seemed amused enough, but there was something else in his expression, something Yuuri couldn't quite identify. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and Murata pulled away, removing Merry's hand from his face and retrieving his stolen glasses. "Cute. Have fun with him," was all he said, before turning serious as he faced Yuuri fully. "We need to talk."

Yuuri blinked, confused, but he'd known the serious conversations would come at some point. "Okay…" He looked around at his companions, then glanced at Merry, considering him for a moment before handing him over to Wolfram. "Will you watch him for me?"

"Watch him?" he asked, looking highly distressed as Yuuri placed Merry, still half in his swaddling and wiggling around vigorously, into his arms. "But shouldn't I go with-"

"I'll come talk to you later."

He hated doing this, lying to Wolfram and distracting him with other responsibilities, but there were things he had to say to Murata and his advisers that he didn't want Wolfram to hear, and by the look of agreement on Murata's face, he figured he had similar things to share. He didn't plan on telling them everything that had happened - he still hadn't even talked about it all that much with Conrad - but parts of it needed to be divulged. If there really were men still hiding within or around his castle, he wanted them found as soon as possible.

He knew that he was avoiding the main issue, and that by leaving it to fester it would probably grow worse by the time he finally opened up about it, but for the moment he didn't care. The pain was too great, the memories too shameful. He'd come back to it all and fill Wolfram in when he felt he could handle it. Until then, he fully planned on falling back into his old habit of hiding from the things that bothered him.

Yuuri turned with Murata to walk up the steps of the castle. "Gunter, Conrad, Adalbert, Gwendal, can you come, too?"

He heard Wolfram's shout of indignation behind him, but he didn't turn to face him. He couldn't. The others followed him without question, and after entering the relative warmth of his castle, he traversed the halls with them as he made his way to his office.

If this made him a coward, then so be it.

* * *

Wolfram watched his mother place the baby into the cradle, gazing down at the tiny child with its thumb in its mouth and its eyes softly closed. Merry had fallen asleep soon after being fed for the evening, and Wolfram, lacking any proper child rearing skills, was perfectly happy allowing his mother to see to the process of putting him to bed. He was angry enough at being pushed aside to see to women's work; his frustrations were only compounded by the fact that he had no idea what he was doing.

As soon as he'd taken pity on the child and released him from his swaddling the previous day, Merry had wriggled and shifted himself around so much Wolfram had nearly dropped him twice. He seemed happy for the most part, and had large smiles that brought out a similar reaction in Wolfram, but he cried just as much - when he was uncomfortable, when he was hungry, when his diaper was wet, and sometimes for no reason that Wolfram could positively discern. He cooed and babbled nonsensically, attempted to grab at things he shouldn't touch, sputtering and blowing bubbles as if it amused him, and giggling and squealing before spitting up all over the place.

Wolfram felt like a nanny. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of Merry since Yuuri had placed him into his arms and then walked off to shut himself in his office. When he'd spread out a blanket and set him on the floor to let him roll around to his heart's content, Merry had somehow managed to drag himself across the floor on his stomach and hide under the couch. Having turned his back for only a moment in order to find a book to read, Wolfram had panicked when it seemed as if the baby had vanished, and alerted the guards immediately.

Merry was found within five minutes, blissfully unaware of the alarm he'd caused as he played with his own feet, happily sucking at his toes.

Then, not knowing where to put him for the night, Wolfram had taken the baby to bed with him, hoping that Yuuri would soon return from his office and alleviate him of the little problem, but both he and Merry had fallen asleep with no sign of his husband. He woke up the next morning to see that Merry had awakened before him and was hanging precariously over the edge of Yuuri's side of the bed. Wolfram nearly fell off himself as he caught him and yanked him back, relentlessly cursing Yuuri for his absence. The other half of the mattress was cold, with the only sign of anyone having been there being the wetness of drool that Merry secreted in copious amounts.

It was at that point that he'd gone to the office, carrying the baby with him, only to find the door locked against him. When he'd knocked, it had been ignored, so he was reduced to pounding and shouting for his husband to let him in. The Sage had answered instead, blocking his path so that he couldn't even see inside, and telling him that there were things that needed to be sorted out before he could be allowed back in again. The door had then been shut in his face, and Wolfram had stalked away, fuming.

So he'd turned to the only person in the castle he knew who had any experience with raising children: his mother. She'd offered to help him with his task as soon as it had been placed in his arms, but he had stubbornly refused. Yuuri had trusted him to take care of Merry, and he wanted to prove that he was perfectly capable of doing so on his own.

But he was learning more and more than things did not always go according to plan, and he was forced to make some concessions.

His mother quickly proved to be much more adept than he was, talking to Merry in a sickeningly sweet voice Wolfram hadn't heard since early childhood. He tried to emulate it, as Merry responded to it well, but it sounded strange and stupid and completely immature. His mother showed him how to change Merry's diaper and how to fasten it to keep it from falling off, as well as how to feed him and hold him properly. When he cried, his mother would ask him what he thought each cry meant, whether he was hungry or tired or just grouchy, but it all sounded the same to him.

Clothes were taken out of storage, and Wolfram was reintroduced to outfits he'd worn in his infancy. Many of them fit Merry perfectly, and so the ill-fitting clothes he'd been wearing as Yuuri and the others had traveled back to the castle were discarded. Wolfram watched his mother bathe him, then dress him in warm winter pajamas, before feeding him, burping him, and putting him to bed in a cradle that had been found somewhere in the castle treasure vaults.

Finally, everything was quiet, with the only sounds in the room being the cracking of the fire and Merry's soft breathing.

"What does His Majesty plan on doing with him?" his mother asked, brushing a lock of blond hair off of Merry's forehead.

Were babies supposed to have so much hair at that age?

He had no idea.

"I'm not sure. He didn't exactly tell me before he went off to do whatever it is that's kept him busy for the last twenty-four hours," Wolfram responded bitterly, wishing he could have been included in the meetings Yuuri had immersed himself in since his return. What could they possibly be discussing that Yuuri didn't want him to hear?

"Did he say if he had any family?"

"He said the mother and father were killed. I don't know if he has an extended family. Yuuri didn't mention anything about that. Maybe he has grandparents who'd be willing to take him in."

"And if he doesn't?"

Wolfram thought the question over, gazing down at the sleeping baby. He figured Yuuri would probably want to keep him if it turned out that he had no one else, take care of him like he had Greta. Whether there would be another official adoption or if his husband would merely take Merry on as his ward would be up for discussion whenever those decisions needed to be made, but Wolfram couldn't imagine Yuuri abandoning him. Something would be done, they just had to figure out what it would be.

"I don't know yet. It's something I wanted to talk to Yuuri about but…" He frowned, remembering the Sage's refusal. Yuuri must have said not to let him in, otherwise the Sage wouldn't have dared to stand against him like that.

His mother smiled at him comfortingly, patting him lightly on the cheek. "Try not to be too hard on His Majesty. I'm sure he doesn't intend to leave you out for long. Maybe he just wants to give you the opportunity to bond with Merry, especially if he intends to adopt him."

Wolfram almost laughed, but instead kept his bitter amusement confined to a snort. "If that's the case, he could have just said so."

"Men have the awful habit of assuming that certain things are implied," his mother responded. She giggled lightly at his disgruntled expression, then took him into her arms to hug him tightly. "Have one of the guards send for me if Merry wakes up in the middle of the night and you need more help."

"I will."

"Good night, Wolf," she said and kissed his forehead. "Sweet dreams."

She exited to go to her own room and Wolfram was left on his own. He let out a sigh when the door shut behind her, looking around the room and wondering what he should do now. The temptation to try talking to Yuuri again was strong, but he couldn't leave Merry on his own, not when he could wake up and be in need of something at any moment. If at any point he had ever thought Greta required a lot of care, it was nothing to the amount of attention he had to give to the baby. Seeing to the whims of a teenage girl and dissuading her from her fantasies of handsome men was, in his opinion, much easier. Whether it was preferable or not was still up for debate.

With nothing else to do but wait to see if Yuuri would actually come to their room tonight, Wolfram looked down to consider the baby for a little longer. He'd never given much thought to raising children, if only because he'd previously assumed he wouldn't have any. Falling in love with and marrying a man brought along some very obvious complications to the idea of progeny. Taking Greta in had been a pleasant surprise, a set of circumstances that he'd thought would be difficult to come by again. Now here was this poor orphaned child, and with no knowledge of what Yuuri planned to do with him, he could only continue to make assumptions based on what he knew and could predict about his husband.

He found himself faced with the very real possibility that he may end up being the parent to another child, this one much younger and far more dependent on he and Yuuri than their first had been.

He could think of plenty of reasons why he wouldn't be able to take care of a baby appropriately, his inexperience being only one of them. On the other hand, he couldn't say that he would be disappointed should it turned out that he and Yuuri ended up being responsible for the child. Merry had been causing trouble since the moment he'd brought him into the castle, but his gummy smiles and shrieks of laughter made Wolfram's heart react in ways that were both foreign and familiar. Watching Greta grow had been a very rewarding experience, one that he certainly wouldn't mind repeating.

As a small, contented smile worked its way onto his face, Wolfram reached into the cradle to take the little hand Merry wasn't sucking on, lightly stroking the soft skin of his palm with his thumb. The tiny fingers, smaller than any he'd ever seen, reflexively wrapped themselves around his thumb, and Wolfram stood still, watching Merry's chest rise and fall with each breath, listening to the quiet sounds he made in his sleep.

It wouldn't be so bad, he decided, if Merry should stay. He would have a lot to learn, and many of the things he accomplished would largely be through trial and error, but it might be nice to have a baby around, even if it robbed him of sleep and tested his sanity. After all, his mother had raised three children, and if she could do that and still manage to keep up with her extravagant social life, then he should be able to handle a teenager and a three-year-old without too many problems.

He was unaware of his growing smile as he thought of what the future would bring - birthday parties and springtime picnics and pony rides around the courtyard, nursery rhymes and rooms full of toys and days spent playing games. He didn't even realize he'd begun to hum softly until words made their way into the tune, but by then he saw no need to stop. He remembered plenty of songs from childhood, all sung in his mother's kind, lilting voice.

"May you bring love and may you bring happiness, be loved in return to the end of your days. Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you, I'll just sit for a while-"

The door opened and he came to an abrupt end, flinching unconsciously as a jolt of surprise ran through him. Taking his hand away from Merry, he lifted it to his chest as if to still the beating of his heart, turning just in time to see his husband slam the door.

Yuuri stopped when their eyes met, looking guilty as he noticed Merry in the cradle. "Sorry," he said, then walked across the room in a more subdued fashion.

"It's alright," Wolfram replied, following his movements. A sense of relief fell over him, though the bitterness he felt at being locked out remained. "Did you finish your work?"

"Yeah." Undoing his clothing, Yuuri began to shed each layer, starting with his shoes and ending with his pants, grabbing the bottom half of his pajama set but not bothering with the top, leaving his chest bare.

"What were you doing?" Wolfram tried, a bit put off by his short response. "If you don't mind me asking…"

"Nothing."

"You spent a whole day in your office with Gwendal, Conrart, Adalbert and His Eminence and you did nothing?" he asked disbelievingly.

"We talked," Yuuri said, taking a pitcher of wine once he was finished changing and pouring himself a glass, all the while keeping his back to Wolfram.

"About what?"

"Just things."

"What sorts of things?"

"Don't worry about it, okay?"

Wolfram frowned deeply, but tried not to grow too frustrated. He had already convinced himself that something more had happened while Yuuri was away than what Yuuri or any of the others had revealed to him, and while it was annoying to be left in the dark, he knew he had to allow his husband to tell him on his own terms, or else they'd just continue to go around in circles of questioning and evasion. Sometimes Yuuri required about as much patience and understanding as Merry did, and Wolfram tried hard to grant it to him.

"I'm always going to worry about you. Nothing will stop that," he told him quietly, treading as carefully as he could. "You're my husband. I haven't seen you in nearly five weeks. Now you've come back and I can tell something's bothering you, but you hardly say anything to me about it and you've been avoiding me since yesterday evening. What else am I supposed to do?"

Yuuri's injured arm lifted so that his fingers slid into his hair, tugging at the black strands, though it wasn't long enough for him to grab onto much anymore, not after he'd cut it before leaving. Wolfram could see the strain in his body, his muscles tense and his back rigid, the wine rippling in his glass as his other hand trembled minutely.

"Wolfram, can you just-" he began, paused, then let out an agitated sounding groan. "Stop. Just stop."

Wolfram allowed a brief period of silence, trying not to feel too hurt by Yuuri's behavior. He continued to watch as his husband lowered himself into one of the chairs by the fire, letting him have a few moments to settle down before attempting to speak with him again.

"Yuuri," he softly called to him, taking a few cautious steps in his direction. He received no answer, but Yuuri failed to give any other indication that he didn't want to be bothered. Slowly, Wolfram approached him, lowering himself onto one of the arms of the chair to glance down at him. Yuuri avoided his gaze, looking instead at the wine in his glass, before downing the alcohol in a few quick gulps.

Frowning in concern, Wolfram wondered when Yuuri had begun to drink so much, and looked back on the last four months in an attempt to remember. Certainly not before the wedding; wine had been something he'd only allowed himself on special occasions. On the night of their wedding, he thought he remembered Yuuri brooding after they'd danced, and there had definitely been alcohol present at the reception. Since then, the amount of consumption seemed to have steadily increased. Wolfram was curious as to whether it had become more of a habit while Yuuri had been at the front.

He tried not to think that it had something to do with him, that the stress of their relationship and the anxiety of figuring it all out was pushing Yuuri to drink, but the thought was still there in the back of his mind. It was a selfish fear, fed by his insecurities, when he knew it was more likely that Yuuri's experiences with the medical unit were the cause of his indulging in a bit more wine.

He didn't like it, especially when it seemed to only make Yuuri more sullen, but now wasn't the time to comment about any bad habits. Yuuri had already been short with him, and had very nearly snapped at him for asking questions and expressing concern. He easily recalled the odd shifts in Yuuri's mood over the last few months, and he'd rather not take his chances and accidentally induce another abrupt change. He wasn't fond of the idea of sparking his anger and having to fend Yuuri off when he'd just returned.

He took the glass from him when it was empty, then slid off the arm of the chair. The action had Yuuri looking up at him, his eyes darker than usual and frighteningly dull. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Wolfram didn't answer him and went over to the table to grab the wine pitcher, filling the glass as much as he dared before returning it to his husband. Yuuri gazed at him curiously but took the glass without a word, bringing it to his lips to take a few more long gulps as Wolfram again settled onto the chair arm.

He waited, hoping Yuuri would say something. As much as disapproved of it, he thought the extra alcohol might loosen Yuuri's tongue and have him answering all the questions he'd had since they'd first been reunited, but Yuuri remained stubbornly silent. The only sound he made was a soft sigh, and his eyes were quick to shift away and look elsewhere - at his glass, at the fire, at a painting on the wall. Wolfram called upon every last shred of patience he had, but he thought it would do little good.

"Yuuri," he tried again, dismayed when his call was ignored. For once, he wasn't angry - bitter and frustrated, yes, but still more sad than angry. He ached to think that Yuuri knew something, or that something had happened and his husband wasn't confiding in him about it. He'd thought they had progressed well before this. Yuuri had been very open in his letters, and Wolfram had felt more comfortable expressing his thoughts and feelings back to him.

Leaning close, he tried a different tactic, sweeter and - he hoped - less threatening. "Darling…" he whispered, his mouth next to Yuuri's ear.

Even though they weren't touching, he could feel his husband tense. The air between them changed in an instant, and Wolfram felt that he finally had his attention. He hovered for a few moments, then pulled away to examine Yuuri's expression. His jaw had tightened, as if he were gnashing his teeth together to contain himself, and some of the emptiness had left his eyes, which remained dark but gleamed with the sudden appearance of tears.

This time when Wolfram took his glass away, he set it aside, somewhere that Yuuri wasn't able to reach from the chair. Then he wrapped his arms around him and leaned close again to continue whispering into his ear. "I love you, Yuuri. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Yuuri's breath hitched and his body shuddered. Wolfram's hold tightened and Yuuri lurched forward, arms circling his waist as his face went against his shoulder, bared from the collar of his nightgown, and Wolfram was not surprised when tears dripped onto his skin. He didn't know what they were for, but he knew they needed to be released; too much was being held inside. Yuuri took in a large breath of air, then closed his mouth around a sob. Wolfram felt his body tremble harshly with it.

"I killed someone," Yuuri said, choking on the words.

If Wolfram hadn't been listening closely, he wouldn't have been able to make the statement out. He was surprised by it, and didn't know what to say in response, but he knew he had to comfort him. "Yuuri… no. You did what you could. Most of the men who are brought to the medical station are gravely hurt already. It wasn't your fault. There's no way you could have saved all of them."

"No!" Yuuri cried, his hands fisting into the back of Wolfram's nightdress. "No, Wolf. I _killed_ someone!"

Confused, Wolfram paused a moment, not wanting to believe what Yuuri was saying, if only because he _couldn't _believe it.

"How…?" he asked stupidly.

Yuuri struggled to speak, his sentences broken by sobs and gasps for air. "He tried… to kill Merry. He killed Nastia and… and he was going to kill Merry, too… and he would have… he would have hurt you."

"No one's going to hurt me, Yuuri," Wolfram tried to reassure him, but he was cut off before he could continue.

"He already did!" With more strength than he'd probably intended to use, Yuuri grabbed Wolfram by the shoulders and pushed him away, holding him motionless in front of him to look into his eyes. "He tried to rape you!"

Wolfram flinched as if he'd been stung, and fear raged through him. Neither he nor Yuuri had ever spoken of the event in such precise terms before. It had always been 'the attack,' or Yuuri would refer to is as 'what happened to you.' Hearing him call it what it really was - or what it had nearly been - Wolfram felt his face pale and his heart stop as the memories came rushing back.

The eyes, the laughter, the rope binding his hands, the stones blocking his magic, the tongue in his mouth, the hands against his thighs, the bite of teeth sinking into his shoulder, the smack of a palm against his cheek…

"_You're not getting away."_

"_You're the one I want, the one I was sent here for."_

"_I was going to be gentle with you…"_

"_You taste so good. So warm."_

"_Hello, pet."_

"Ilyich," Wolfram gasped out, shaking as much as Yuuri was. His heart beat fast, and he could feel panic bubbling toward the surface. "You killed Ilyich."

Part of him found it impossible to believe that Yuuri had killed someone - be they Ilyich or some other deserving victim. Even when Yuuri had transformed, even when he'd threatened to dispose of his enemies, he'd never taken a life. He'd punished them, certainly, and exacted his strange form of justice through an abundance of vile strokes of magic, but no one had ever died by his hands. Wolfram had assumed it would always be that way, that Yuuri was too kind, too good to slay anyone.

But Yuuri nodded at him and removed his hands from his shoulders, and looked at them as if they were still covered in blood. "I wanted him to disappear," he confessed, his speech a bit more stable, but still overflowing with guilt and disgust. "I never wanted to see him again. I wanted him to pay. He said he was going to hurt you, and I had to stop him! So I… with Morgif, I…"

"Stop," Wolfram said. He didn't want to hear the details.

He was relieved that Ilyich was gone. Ever since he'd escaped from the castle, Wolfram had been living in fear, wondering if he would come back, if he'd eventually return to finish what he'd started. The thought of Ilyich was with him every waking moment, and terrorized him in his dreams every night. If he were to be honest with himself, he would admit that he'd wanted the man dead - whether by Gwendal's hand or a formal execution. He would even admit to wishing he could do it himself.

Yuuri shouldn't have had to do it. Yuuri knew little of death; he couldn't be expected to watch someone die, let alone do the killing himself. If Wolfram had to choose between Ilyich dying and Yuuri retaining his innocence, he would have let Ilyich live.

"I'm a murderer," his husband moaned in dismay, continuing to look at his own hands as his face crumpled.

"Oh, Yuuri… no…" Wolfram shook his head quickly, taking Yuuri's hands into his to have him looking at him again. "No, you did it in defense. That's not murder."

"It is…"

"It isn't!" he denied, letting go of his hands to cup either side of Yuuri's face. "You did what you had to at the time, under the circumstances that you were given. It wasn't good, it wasn't ideal, and if I could have I would have done it in your place. But, Yuuri, he'd already done so many horrible things! You said he would have killed Merry, that he'd already killed his mother!"

"Ilyich killing people doesn't justify _me_ killing _him_."

Wolfram tried to wrap his mind around Yuuri's logic, but it was difficult. It was hard for him to understand how he could believe something like that, but then Yuuri was from Earth and he was from the Great Demon Kingdom, and they did things differently here. If someone killed someone else in cold blood, they were generally put to death for it. The punishment always befit the crime, unless someone of power stepped in to grant mercy and forgiveness.

Earth was different, and the ideas of retribution and redemption Yuuri had developed from his peaceful life in his home world clashed significantly with what Wolfram had always been accustomed to. He couldn't understand how Yuuri thought the way he did, how he put so much value into even the evilest of people, how he could administer second chances to the lowliest of criminals when it seemed unlikely that they would change their ways.

He wondered if Yuuri would ever adopt the ways of this world, of if he would always think as he did now.

"You're a better man than I am, Yuuri."

"I'm not," Yuuri said, his eyes still leaking tears.

"You are!" Wolfram insisted. "How many people do you think I've killed? I may not have fought in a war, but I've still taken lives, and I've rarely felt remorse for it the way you do!" Because death was prevalent in his world; it was a part of life, not merely an end to it.

"I'm so proud of you, Yuuri," he said, keeping his hands on his face so that he was forced to look at him.

"I killed-"

"Not because you killed someone, but because you regret! Because of all the things you've done that led you to it! You didn't have to go to war, but you did anyway! You could have stayed at the castle and you never would have had to face any of that! But you went and you fought for Greta, and me, and yourself, and you fought for your kingdom!"

Wolfram's vision became obscured by tears that he stubbornly held back. He didn't know what to say to assuage Yuuri's guilt, so he settled for saying what he felt.

"I used to think that you were too kind, that you trusted too easily. But I know now that it's because you care so much that makes you a good person. You don't think of yourself as any better or worse than anyone else. You don't think in terms of what you were born as, or how people view you, or what you're expected to do and believe. You believe that everyone has the potential to do good. I've never thought like that, and I couldn't understand how… how you could be like that when there are so many horrible things in the world."

Yuuri's tears ran harder, and his hands went back to Wolfram's shoulders. "But I killed him!"

"You did, but that won't change who you are!" Wolfram exclaimed. He realized that his voice had risen unintentionally, and he was quick to try and lower it. "Not to me," he added softly. "I know what you did, and I know it hurts you to think about it. I know you regret it with all of your heart. No one will ever expect you to feel differently. You can't change what happened, and I know you'll never forget what you've done, but… you're a good man, Yuuri. You've taught me so much!"

Yuuri was incredulous and tried to turn away, but Wolfram forced him back. "Do you know how hard it's been for me to trust people? My father left me, my mother has always been busy with other things, and Gwendal and Conrart…" He paused, remembering both of their betrayals. "I grew up during a time of war. I didn't know who to trust, who to depend on, so I didn't depend on anyone but myself. I closed myself off so I wouldn't be hurt my anyone.

"And then you came," Wolfram said, and he had to use every ounce of his will power to keep even a single tear from falling. "You gave me something to believe in. I could trust you, even if I acted like I didn't. I knew that you would never change, that you would never lie to me, that I could depend on you. You've given me something to protect, something to love, to look forward to. I haven't had that… for a very long time.

"Don't take that away from me now by thinking that you're a bad person just because you made one mistake," he pleaded. "I don't think of you any differently than I did before. You're still my wimp," he said, and broke off momentarily, taking a few deep breaths. "You're still my Yuuri. I'll never think any less of you, no matter what you do."

Yuuri looked at him helplessly. Wolfram moved from where he still sat on the arm of the chair, kneeling over Yuuri and sliding his hands from his face to slip his arms around him and pull him to his chest. Yuuri went easily, sobbing into the front of his nightgown and clinging to him desperately.

Wolfram let him cry and expel all the pent up feelings he'd been carrying around - the anger, the sadness, the grief, the shame. He stroked at his back and brushed at his hair, placed kisses against his head and softly shushed him, until his trembling eased and his sobbing grew quiet. He didn't pull back right away, giving Yuuri the time he needed to come terms with what he'd done, to accept it and find the strength to move on.

He said "I love you" over and over again, so much that he thought Yuuri might grow tired of hearing it, but he never told him to stop and seemed to relax more with every recitation. Wolfram's hands moved in soothing patterns over his back, and soon raised to knead at his shoulders, loosening the tense muscles and working away the strain.

It was Yuuri who pulled away this time. His eyes were red and swollen, but dry, and his face was splotchy but open. Yuuri gazed at him in gratitude, and his hands lifted to reverently stroke his face. He attempted a smile, but it faltered soon after it appeared. Wolfram smiled back, happy that he could still try.

"I need you," Yuuri whispered, his hands continuing to move over Wolfram's skin. He brushed them over his cheeks, trailed a finger down his nose, swept a thumb over his lips, caressed the shell of his ears, and pet the strands of his hair.

"I love you," Wolfram said back. There was only a one-word difference between them, but at the moment it felt the same.

Gently, Yuuri pulled him in for a kiss and Wolfram leaned forward without any resistance. Their lips touched and molded together, and Wolfram's eyes slipped closed so that he was blinded to everything and his other senses were allowed to take over. His lips parted to invite Yuuri to kiss him as he had before he'd left, the same breath passing between them as their tongues met.

Wolfram didn't think about anything - not the physical invasion of the past or his hopes for the future. He focused on the present - the taste of Yuuri's mouth, the wetness of his tongue, the warmth of his skin and the firmness of his chest. He lowered himself into Yuuri's lap, sharing the chair with him and shifting so that he was more comfortable while his hands explored. He touched Yuuri's shoulders and chest, his stomach and sides, feeling the strength of the arms that surrounded him and the thighs that he sat upon.

Yuuri's hands were just as searching, never staying in the same place for more than a few moments. They gripped onto his hips or slid up his back, lightly holding his neck or sinking into his hair. He pushed the collar of his nightgown lower, and Wolfram was surprised but remained undaunted when he felt hands slipping beneath his bedclothes. Yuuri kept his bare touches to his arms and legs only, and Wolfram couldn't decide if he was more relieved or disappointed.

He could feel Yuuri half-hard against him, and though it had his heart racing with happiness and excitement, Wolfram didn't let himself react upon it. He pretended as if it wasn't there, knowing that it was best to let things run normally. There was no rush; they should take the time to talk about it, to experience all that they could for now, and then take the next step when they both agreed that they were ready.

It seemed to last an eternity; neither one of them wanted to stop. They touched and kissed and held one another longer than they ever had before, ending slowly, tenderly, with soft, close-mouthed kisses. Wolfram smiled and brushed his nose against Yuuri's, and Yuuri returned he gesture by nuzzling the side of his face.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri finally spoke again, releasing a sigh before lightly running the tip of his nose down the length of Wolfram's neck.

It tickled somewhat. Wolfram pulled away to keep from laughing. "Why?" he asked, thinking Yuuri had nothing to apologize for.

"For locking you out," he explained, smiling sadly. "I just… I needed time to think. I knew you would ask what happened, and… I wanted to tell you, but I guess I just… needed to put it off for a little while, so I did some work and talked about some things with the others, and then came back when I thought I was ready."

Wolfram shook his head, hardly caring about that anymore. The bitterness he'd been suffering from had faded away, leaving him happy and content, if not still a little concerned for his husband. "It's fine. I knew you'd come back eventually," he said. "You always do."

"I do, don't I?"

Wolfram nodded. It hurt whenever he left, no matter what his reasons were for going, but he couldn't deny that Yuuri always returned.

They stayed together by the fire for a little while longer, before Wolfram climbed out of Yuuri's lap and stood to his feet again. He held out a hand, which Yuuri took as he joined him, and Wolfram led him over to their bed. He was tired, and he knew Yuuri must be, too, after being up for more than twenty-four hours. Tonight, he looked forward to sleeping, and doubted he would need any herbal remedy to lull him into slumber, not when he had Yuuri beside him.

Yuuri stopped him before he could climb up onto the mattress, keeping hold of his hand as he paused by Merry's cradle. They baby had slept through the entire emotional ordeal, one tiny fist curled by the side of his face while the other thumb remained lodged in his mouth.

"I told his father I'd take care of him," Yuuri said, a bit of his prior sadness working its way back into his voice.

Wolfram let go of Yuuri's hand to reach into the cradle, taking the corner of the blanket and using it to wipe some drool away from Merry's chin. He adjusted the blanket when he was done, tucking him in a bit better so that he would stay warm. "We'll take care of him together," he told Yuuri when he took his hand again.

Yuuri looked down at him in slight surprise, though it didn't take long for him to smile and nod in agreement. "Right. Together."

They completed their journey to bed, climbing up and sliding under the sheets and blankets, making themselves comfortable as they prepared for sleep. Wolfram was about to ask if Yuuri minded if he slept a bit closer, but there was no need for him to do so, for Yuuri pulled him to him as soon as they were both lying down.

"I missed you," he said simply.

Wolfram's heart soared. "I missed you, too," he replied.

Curling up against Yuuri's side, Wolfram nestled his head on Yuuri's shoulder and slung his arm over his chest. Yuuri's bandaged arm kept him in place, his hand resting lightly against his hip. His other hand covered the one Wolfram had against his chest, squeezing lightly before holding it loosely.

Wolfram inhaled Yuuri's familiar scent - grass, dirt, ink, parchment, and sunshine - then closed his eyes as he began to drift off into what he knew would be a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

Conrart leaned against the side wall next to the map of the Great Demon Kingdom, trying to keep himself as unobtrusive as possible. Yuuri's office was mostly empty, but it would soon be further occupied by the arrival of the Aristocrats, who were only now being rounded up by Gwendal and Gunter. Conrart knew he had little cause to be present for the coming meeting, especially when he'd last fallen into disagreement with Captain von Bielefeld, but Yuuri had requested that he stay.

"In case anyone tries something," he'd said, and though Conrart had looked at him questioningly, he'd received no more explanation than that.

Glancing over at the large desk by the windows, Conrart saw Yuuri sitting patiently behind it. He wasn't alone, as another chair had been placed beside his so that Wolfram may join him. The two sat together, occasionally whispering to one another and sharing soft smiles. They both wore black, though Wolfram's clothing was more elaborate than Yuuri's plain uniform, and his crown was perched atop his head, as if he felt the need to remind everyone of exactly who he was, while Yuuri went without.

Both Conrart and Yuuri had heard from Gwendal and the Great Sage about Wolfram's developing thoughts concerning the Aristocrats and their removal from power, and while he could understand his younger brother's frustrations with them, he hoped that Yuuri would be able to rein him in and prevent him from making the attempt. Some changes would undoubtedly be made, but not to that extreme, at least not yet. If it happened, it should be a gradual process, not a sudden stripping of power.

Conrart knew that it was his stance against the Aristocrats that caused Wolfram to feel as if he needed to remind them that he was Prince Consort. After suffering from so much manipulation, he was seeking a way to gain his own control, and showcasing his status through the use of finer clothing and his crown seemed to be the manner in which he'd settled on for the time being. Conrart could only hope he kept his antagonism to such silent gestures. He thought it better to keep Wolfram and the Aristocrats separated so that neither would frustrate the other, but Yuuri had felt the need to have Wolfram present as well, and Conrart would not defy him.

His godson's disposition had grown stronger since their return, but he was still weary, and it was easy to see that his experiences with the medical unit continued to haunt him. While Conrart would have attempted to guide him before, he'd taken a step back and allowed Wolfram the chance to help him through his troubles. There was some visible improvement - Yuuri smiled easier as his anger and sadness had ebbed, but there were lingering effects. His anger was once again at a bursting point, as it had been during the interrogation a month and a half ago. With so much to confront, it would only be a matter of time before that anger broke free, and Conrart had to wonder who it would be directed toward this time.

He gazed at Wolfram out of the corner of his eye. He was reassured by the fact that his relationship with Yuuri seemed easier now - they touched and kissed occasionally, hardly realizing that there was anyone else in the room with them - but Conrart still had his doubts about its progression. He knew that at this point in time Yuuri's feelings were based primarily on his need for comfort and companionship. After being forced together, Yuuri was making the best out of the relationship, and though he may find some enjoyment in it, it remained in danger for as long as he continued to be confused about his feelings.

Since the wedding, there hadn't been enough time for the two of them to simply be together. There had been attacks from Isidore to worry about, plus the bickering among the Aristocrats, then Yuuri had left, Wolfram had been violated, and Yuuri had soon decided to go to war. It was impressive that they'd managed to find time for a healthy relationship in between all that, and it was there where Conrart's doubts lied. He was worried that these events were doing nothing more than the wedding had - forcing them together instead of allowing a more natural development. Only when they could be together without the constant worries that assailed them here did he feel they'd truly come together as husband and spouse.

The door opened to admit the Great Sage, and Conrart was disturbed from his musings just as Yuuri and Wolfram's playful yet innocent kissing came to an abrupt end. Adalbert followed the second double black into the room, meeting Conrart's gaze for only a second before taking up a position against the opposite wall.

Conrart frowned, not because he felt any sort of lingering animosity toward the Great Demon Kingdom's defected General, but because he still had no idea what had made the man return. True to his trusting nature, Yuuri hadn't asked any questions and had simply absorbed Adalbert into his group of advisers, leaving Conrart with few answers. Yuuri's trust in the man was impressive, though Conrart did not think it was unjustified. Despite his personal feelings and broken faith in the Demon Tribe, Adalbert had done as much for Yuuri as anyone.

What Conrart didn't know was if Adalbert had done so merely because Yuuri's soul was that of Susannah Julia. Was he offering his assistance in the memory of his late fiancée, or did he truly believe in Yuuri as an individual and as an entirely separate being?

"The Aristocrats are on their way," His Eminence informed them, moving across the room to join Yuuri and Wolfram at the desk, standing slightly behind them.

Conrart didn't miss the change in his younger brother, how his chin lifted and he straightened in his chair. Nor did he miss the change in Yuuri. His godson's small smile quickly lowered, his expression grew serious, and his hand reached out to clasp one of Wolfram's. In seconds, they transformed from two young, inexperienced boys into mature and, especially in Wolfram's case, sophisticated men. Whatever skepticism or disagreement either of their policies might inspire, no one could deny that as far as their appearances were concerned, they looked the part of King and Prince Consort.

Yuuri had grown into his position much easier than Conrart had feared when he'd first been ordered to take Julia's soul to another world. Slowly but surely he was drawing farther and farther away from his boyhood, leaving a man of strength and endurance in the place of the boisterous adolescent. He still had much to learn, but the maturity he'd gained was hard to miss.

Wolfram, on the other hand, was a bit different. He'd matured as much, more than Conrart had expected of him in so short a time, at least as far as his attitude and behavior were concerned, but he had a passion and a vivaciousness that showed through in everything he did. Nothing was ever half-way with him; it was either all or nothing.

They complimented one another well, as much in their appearances as in their temperaments. Yuuri was dark and majestic; Wolfram was light and ethereal. Yuuri was the energy that crackled through a summer's day, and as lively and vibrant as autumn's changing colors; Wolfram was both sweet as the flowers in spring, and bitter and harsh as a winter storm. Yuuri possessed the calm and tranquility of water, along with its turbulence, as well as the spark of fire, the vitality of earth, and the variance of the wind. Wolfram was all fire, tenacious and fierce; he was warmth and light, and at the same time difficult to contain once ignited.

Conrart allowed himself to wonder which of them would become the more dominant in each aspect of their lives. He assumed that privately Yuuri's temperance would give way to Wolfram's tenacity, while in public Wolfram would be softened and constrained by Yuuri's goodness and benevolence.

The Aristocrats were slow to enter. Gwendal and Gunter led the way, settling in two of the chairs at the head of the table, closest to the desk. The rest trickled in after them. Mikhail and Odell both greeted Yuuri and Wolfram kindly, then quietly took their own seats. Stoffel was more clumsy and, as always, put too much effort into expressing his loyalty. Julius followed him, humble and respectful toward his king, though Conrart would have been a fool had he not seen the dissatisfaction in his eyes when they landed on Wolfram.

The three noble women came in together, whispering to one another and sweeping the room with dubious glances. Winifred, as the oldest, was the leader of the small pack, her aged expression stony and unyielding. Griselda was just as austere, though puffed up and overdressed as if to pressure others into accepting her as a figure of importance. Marlena was at least more pleasing to the eyes, even if her attitude left something to be desired.

Marlena was the first to halt, coming to a stop as soon as they entered, her electric blue eyes immediately catching on the figure to her right. "Adalbert!" she gasped. It was not a sound of delighted surprise, but one of scorn and outrage.

"Marlena," Adalbert replied. He inclined his head in greeting and seemed quite amused by her shock, which was quickly adopted by the other two ladies.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

"I asked him to be here," Yuuri spoke up from behind his desk, hardly sounding like his former self. His voice was strong and his demeanor brooked no arguments.

Marlena seemed both stunned and horrified. "Your Majesty, it is not my intention to be presumptuous, but-"

"But you're going to question my decision anyway," he finished for her. Beside him, Wolfram was busy trying to contain a gratified smirk. "I appreciate your concern, Lady von Grantz, but I would hope you'd trust me in this."

Conrart was surprised by Yuuri's attitude, but proud that he had gained more confidence in his position. He'd effectively turned the tables, and Marlena, forced into a corner and not wanting to appear disloyal in front of her compatriots for further questioning the king's will, backed down immediately. Quieting, she shot a glare at her older brother, then stalked over to her seat, lowering into it with as much grace as she could muster. The other two followed, their glowers icy and focused on Wolfram, whom they blamed for Yuuri's sudden sternness.

Auberon was the last to arrive, as had become the norm. He strode into the office with his customary air of conceit. If he was as surprised by Adalbert's presence as his three lady companions, he didn't show it. Instead, he set his disapproval on Wolfram, his eyes never leaving the crown on his nephew's head, except to sneer at Conrart. Wolfram's chin only lifted higher at his uncle's cavalier attitude, and Conrart returned the disparaging frown with a pleasant smile.

"Lord von Bielefeld," Yuuri greeted him, sounding none too impressed, "I'm glad you could make it."

It was an obvious allusion to Auberon's common unwillingness to present himself at meetings - and when he arrived, it was not always in a timely manner. Wolfram didn't bother to hide his self-satisfied smirk this time, and even Conrart found it difficult not to express some of his amusement.

Auberon's expression hardened. "Of course, Your Majesty."

Conrart suspected he would have liked to say more than that, but, like Marlena, he didn't dare. Yuuri's change in attitude had them all sufficiently cowed, as none of them wished to be the first to incur ill will, either from the king or from any of those seated around the table.

Silence descended on the group. Yuuri looked over his council with strangely emotionless eyes, and Wolfram sat by his side, holding his hand in support and appearing exceptionally pleased by the subdued state of his many rivals. Conrart continued to dwell by the wall, but kept shifting his gaze around to thoroughly study each individual, noting the stiffness of Marlena's back, the unveiled abhorrence in Auberon's glare, and the irate sulk that Griselda had quickly fallen into.

"What is the meaning of this, Your Majesty?" Winifred finally asked. She had her hands resting in her lap, but as he was standing opposite of her, Conrart could view them beneath the table. They were clenched tightly into the skirt of her dress, blue veins protruding beneath skin flecked with spots of age.

"Since I came back, I've had the opportunity to speak with my advisers about some problems that have arisen in the last few months, and I'd like to discuss them with all of you," Yuuri replied deliberately. "Having been in the war myself, I've become aware of a… situation."

"What sort of situation?" Auberon wondered, arms crossed over his barrel chest.

"We've been betrayed."

If Yuuri had expected to receive some sort of a reaction from any of them at the announcement, he was disappointed. Conrart was careful to observe each of the Aristocrats in turn, but none of them exhibited any sign of surprise, nor did any of them betray any sense of guilt.

"I want the traitor found," Yuuri added.

"And what has brought this to your attention?" Julius asked curiously. His dark green eyes glittered with intrigue. He had a special interest in traitors after what had befallen his son in Bastille.

"I fought one of Lyron's advisers, the prisoner who escaped from our dungeon," Yuuri answered him, though he spoke to all of them. "He told me he still has men infiltrating our ranks. They're finding a way in and I want it closed off immediately."

"You believe he was telling the truth?"

"Yes, I do."

"We have enough evidence to make this assumption confidently," Gwendal took over, as his opinion carried more weight than any of those around the table. "During the assault on the capital and Blood Pledge Castle, our enemies ascended the summit and ruptured a part of our perimeter wall. Since then we've conducted a thorough investigation into the matter. We were especially curious as to why none of our men in the watch towers shot at the approaching contingent, and upon questioning them we were alerted to a startling fact."

"And what would that be?" Griselda wondered. Her interest in the conversation seemed minimal.

Gwendal glowered at her, his pride in his kingdom and his desperate need to protect it taking insult to her flippancy. "That they'd been paid off," he said.

Mikhail gasped, horror-struck. "I cannot believe our own soldiers would betray their king and country for monetary gain!"

"You are an idealist," Gwendal told him, sparing a glance at Yuuri as well, but when their king had no visible reaction to his statement he went on. "I can assure you, it was a considerable amount."

"Some of them were probably pretty angry with me anyway," Yuuri allowed, "considering I hadn't been doing much of anything at the time."

"Your Majesty, I'm sure that's not the case," Stoffel quickly declared, earning a derisive sneer from Auberon.

Yuuri smiled, but it was dismal. "Thanks, Stoffel, but I know when I've made a mistake. I was slow to react, I was weak, and I put too much faith in my successes before. People were angry and impatient, and… I know people will do anything when they're desperate."

"It's difficult to say 'no' to an offer of money and the promise of something better," Odell agreed, though not unkindly.

"Has anyone revealed the name of this traitor, or even alluded to whom it might be?" Winifred asked impatiently.

Gunter shook his head. "Along with their considerable bounty, all of the men were sworn to secrecy. When we pressured them to break their oaths, they grew gravely uneasy and professed that their families would be in danger should they reveal any information concerning the identity of their patron. They are fearful enough of him - or her - that even our threats of punishment could not persuade them."

"The punishment for treason is death," Julius said. "They should all be executed."

"No one is dying until the traitor has been found," Yuuri announced, frowning deeply. Conrart knew he thought of the option with little more than revulsion. "For now, those who are found guilty of allowing the attack will be kept in the dungeon and treated civilly. We'll decide on a suitable punishment when we have a better idea of who was involved."

"And do we have any inkling of who that might be?" Marlena asked snappishly, still bitter over the presence of her older brother, whom she viewed as a disgrace to the von Grantz family.

"We know that they are undoubtedly very wealthy to have paid off so many," Gwendal replied. "They must also have a certain amount of power if their threats to our men carry so much weight."

"What are you trying to say?" Auberon flared, his light green eyes tapered into narrow slits. "You think one of us has turned traitor?"

"We didn't say that," Yuuri said, quick to try and diffuse the situation. "I would hope that no one in this room would think to betray me, which is why I've brought you here, to ask you to help me find out who the traitor is and stop him before it's too late."

"We've all voiced our opinions concerning betrayal during a previous occasion," Gwendal pointed out. "I doubt any of us have changed our views since then. Instead of pointing fingers at one another or becoming overly defensive, we should be working together to solve this problem. Lord von Christ, His Eminence, His Majesty and myself have discussed the situation at length and have decided on a new course of action."

Yuuri shifted in his chair when Gwendal nodded for him to take over, clearing his throat nervously before beginning. "Adalbert is going to lead the troops against Big Cimaron. They pose less of a threat than Isidore, but they've invaded our territory and will advance further if left unchecked."

"Your Majesty!" Marlena gasped in alarm. "I don't think I need to remind you of Adalbert's desertion twenty-four years ago! And now you intend to place half of our army under his control?"

While Conrart took no issue with Adalbert receiving command, he could understand Marlena's resentment over the decision, even if he didn't share it. Yuuri was making great efforts to seek out the traitor currently in their midst, but at the same time he was granting a large amount of power to a known rebel. However much Yuuri trusted Adalbert - and however easily Conrart accepted the appointment - the action was blatantly hypocritical.

"I know what I'm doing, Lady von Grantz," Yuuri assured her. "I can promise you that Adalbert is on our side, and that he's the best for the job. He's spent a lot of time in Big Cimaron over the years. He'll know how to deal with them."

"How can you be sure he won't turn his coat again?" Winifred inquired.

Adalbert leaned casually against the wall, in no way affected by the conversation regarding his loyalties. In fact, he seemed marginally amused by it, appearing quite nonchalant with his arms over his chest and his mouth formed into a smug smile.

"I trust him," Yuuri easily replied.

"Your Majesty, I think in this situation your trust may be misplaced!" Marlena tried again.

"I'm not going to debate this with you!" Yuuri's anger was sudden, his free hand gripping the arm of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. Wolfram continued to hold onto the other, giving it a squeeze to soothe him. Taking a calming breath, Yuuri managed to curtail his fury, though he didn't apologize for his outburst. "I appreciate your concern, but I've made my decision. Lord von Mannheim," he said, turning to his other general and putting an abrupt end to his feud with Marlena.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You'll be leading the troops against Isidore. We'll discuss tactics more in depth later. Gwendal and Gunter are confident that the fighting will stop soon now that the snows have begun, at least until spring. Isidore and Cimaron may not be working together, but Belar is allowing Lyron's men passage through his land. Cimaron's winters are generally harsher than ours, and it'll be dangerous for them to continue their offensive as the weather worsens."

Julius nodded. "I will depart on your orders."

"What of the rest of us?" Griselda asked, affronted.

"The rest of you will help me find the traitor," Yuuri said. "I want you to question your own men, members of your families, anyone you can think of that might fit the profile we've come up with. If you have any suspicions, you take them to me and no one else. I won't have wild accusations being thrown around because of assumptions and false rumors."

"Perhaps we should disclose the fact that we're looking for an individual that fits the attributes we've outlined," Odell suggested. "If our suspicions become known, the traitor may grow anxious of apprehension and unwittingly reveal himself."

"We have already drawn up notices to distribute among the gentry," Gunter informed him. "As soon as this meeting is concluded, His Majesty will sign them and they will be sent out with all due haste."

For once, a majority of the Aristocrats seemed to be satisfied, except for perhaps Marlena, who continued to try and pretend as if her brother were not there, and Auberon, who was never content with anything. The eight remaining reached an agreement shortly, and the meeting was hailed as a success. Winifred had no more biting remarks to make, Griselda could find nothing more to argue against, and Gwendal could not find anything more to discuss with any of them.

As tacitly as they had entered, the Aristocrats stood from their chairs to make their way out of the room, starting with Auberon and ending with Gwendal and Gunter, who lingered to speak with the king. Conrart thought congratulations may be in order, as no meeting had ever gone so smoothly with the Aristocrats in recent memory. Yuuri had accomplished something to be proud of; it seemed as if the Aristocrats were beginning to take him seriously.

Conrart smiled and finally left his place along the wall, feeling as if there had been little need for him to be there after all. "That went well," he observed.

"Surprisingly," Gwendal agreed, setting some documents on Yuuri's desk to have signed, while Gunter gushed, "It was splendid, Your Majesty! Truly wonderful! You maintained complete control of the situation the entire time!"

"Thanks, guys," Yuuri said with a faint smile, letting go of Wolfram's hand to find his quill and dip it into a pot of ink.

"Why don't you take a break?" Wolfram asked, as Yuuri began signing notices. "You deserve it."

"I will later."

"Why not after you finish signing these?"

"I have to meet with Lord von Mannheim again soon to go over the battle plan against Isidore. I'll take a break after that, okay?"

"It'll be close to dinner by then," Wolfram grumbled. "That's not much of a break."

His Eminence stepped forward, having kept his silence through the duration of the meeting, choosing to observe instead of speak. He smiled supportively, and though Conrart scrutinized him closely, he saw no sign that the Great Sage had noticed anything that he might have missed, or that he'd come to a different conclusion concerning the success of the meeting.

"Things should start slowing down now," he said. "It's winter, as you said earlier, and there won't be much more either Cimaron or Isidore can do until the spring - not unless they're desperate or foolhardy, which Lyron does not appear to be."

"I wouldn't be surprised if Belar undertook something senseless," Adalbert spoke up, still leisurely resting against the wall.

"Belar isn't as much of a threat as Lyron. You'll be able to handle him without much difficulty, won't you, Lord von Grantz?" His Eminence replied confidently.

Adalbert chuckled. "Of course."

Conrart frowned as the confusion Adalbert's arrival had aroused continued to plague him. If the man had stated his reasons to Gwendal and Wolfram, neither of them had yet to divulge the information to their middle brother.

"Why don't you go to Earth for a few days?" the Sage suggested, speaking to Yuuri again. "You could use some more rest, and you won't be under as much stress there."

"I promise you spending time around Shori and my mom is stressful enough." Yuuri looked to be considering the idea, however, as he'd paused in signing the sheets of parchment.

"We should go," Wolfram jumped in, lightly touching Yuuri's arm. "We can take Greta and Merry with us. Your parents will want to see them, especially since they don't even know about Merry yet."

Conrart suspected Wolfram might even miss his in-laws, but his younger brother failed to say so. Either way, the time on Earth would do some good to the both of them. "Shouldn't Christmas be coming up soon?" he asked. He consulted his mental calendar, but had trouble coming up with the correct Earthen date.

"Yeah," Yuuri said, quickly signing the last paper before setting his quill aside. "Mom'll probably be upset if I don't show. I bet she's finished shopping by now." He paused, mulling over the idea a bit more, before glancing up at Gwendal. "What do you think?"

Gwendal appeared marginally surprised that he was being consulted, and though his expression remained as gloomy as always, he didn't outwardly reject the idea. "After your exploits with the medical unit, a short vacation may be in order. If visiting your family will aid you in your recovery, then I see no reason why you should not go. Gunter and I will take care of things in your absence."

"Alright. I'll go then. But only for a week at the most."

Wolfram smiled brightly and took Yuuri's hand to give it another squeeze, excited about the prospect of a sojourn to Earth, which he hadn't visited in nearly four years. Conrart listened as further plans were made, but his attention soon strayed when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

Adalbert had pushed off of the wall and, seeing that he was no longer needed, exited the office. Conrart lingered for a moment or two longer before his curiosity got the better of him. He politely excused himself, then turned to follow his past rival. If he wanted answers, he supposed he was going to have to seek them out himself.

"Adalbert," he called before he could go too far.

The man in question halted further down the hall before turning to meet him. Conrart approached, noting his reserved stance. Adalbert gazed at him indifferently, neither happy to see him nor dreading his presence. Conrart couldn't tell if he'd gotten over the animosity that had existed between them before, or if he was merely ignoring it now that they were both officially working for the same side again.

"Come to question me at last?" the newly reinstated general asked.

"Wolfram and Gwendal aren't being very free with their information," Conrart admitted, "and Yuuri places as much trust in you as he does the rest of us."

"And you don't like that."

Conrart frowned. "I never said that. Yuuri has often been well rewarded by placing his trust in people many of us would not have. I have no arguments to him readmitting you to your former place. Considering your experiences with Cimaron, it will no doubt benefit us in the long run."

"I'm not here to earn your trust or approval, Weller," Adalbert said. "Save your compliments for your king."

"I didn't think you were, although I am curious as to what your reasons are. I admit, I was surprised that Wolfram sent you. I was never under the impression that he trusted you any more than I did."

"He didn't. He still doesn't, I assume. But it seems he's not half as stupid as I thought he was." He smirked. "I heard about the wedding. I don't know anyone who hasn't. I also heard that your boy-king has been having some problems in the kingdom, and that his bride has been antagonizing my sister and the other nobles."

Conrart frowned deeper at the derisive manner in which Adalbert spoke of Wolfram, but he kept his silence and chose not to correct him.

"I might not be on speaking terms with most of my family, but there are still a few who are willing to share some information with me. So when I heard that Yuuri had decided to go to the front, and that you fools hadn't done anything to stop him, I thought I'd come to see what I could do to keep him from inadvertently killing himself."

"That was your initial reason," Conrart pointed out. "What is your reason for staying now? Yuuri is no longer in danger. You could just as easily return to your current home and continue to observe our affairs from a distance."

"I could, and originally that had been the plan," Adalbert admitted, "but then I was made aware of something that intrigued me."

"That being…?"

"Don't play the fool, Conrart," Adalbert chuckled cynically. "You heard is as well as I did. Your older brother and the Sage had a nice bit of information to share with us when we returned, if you'll remember."

Conrart thought back over the confrontation he was alluding to, and could only conceive of one instance that might prove to be relevant. "What interest do you have in Wolfram's feud with the Aristocrats?"

"The third son wants to do away with them. I agree with him."

"Why?" Conrart asked, trying not to seem too surprised, when it had seemed highly unlikely to him before that Adalbert and Wolfram would ever find anything to agree on.

"Because they're little more than a hindrance. They've been causing problems in the kingdom for years now. Stoffel took us to war on nothing more than pride, Julius is still bitter about the loss of his son in Bastille and allows that to affect his policies, Auberon couldn't care less about the people so long as he's comfortable, and my dear sister shares Winifred and Griselda's high and mighty attitude. The Great One was mistaken in granting them so much power."

"If the Great One had not, he himself would have reigned supreme. It seems to me that would have been a greater threat, if I were to look at things from your point of view. I thought you'd lost trust in the Great One."

"I did. But with the right person on the throne, the country would prosper."

"And you think Yuuri is the right person?" Conrart assumed.

"I think he will be," Adalbert corrected him. "Don't mistake me. I hold no fondness for your brother. If not for his relationship with Yuuri, I don't think he would have been a good choice. He's just as proud and vain as the rest of them, but whatever he has going with the king is controlling him, and as long as things stay that way, he'll not pose a threat. If Yuuri is the one with the power, then you can expect my support."

"Because he has Julia's soul."

It was a logical conclusion to make. It had taken years for Adalbert to come to terms with Julia's passing, if he'd come to terms with it at all. His acknowledgment of Yuuri had been a rough process. If Conrart could have gone without revealing the secret of Yuuri's soul, he would have, yet at times he thought it had done a lot of good in healing Adalbert's inner wounds. It was obvious that he still detested many of the things that had caused him to desert his own people, but at the same time he'd gained acceptance in regards to Julia's death.

Adalbert's expression changed minutely, shifting from indifference to obduracy, his frown growing harsher in the face of Conrart's continued inferences. "No," he said lowly, "because he's not like the rest of you fools. He wasn't raised with so much blind faith in the Great One, and he doesn't give a damn for all your vainglorious court traditions. He'll be the one to change things, and that, Weller, is what I desire for this country."

He turned on his heel without another world, and Conrart did not follow. He let him go, watching until he was no longer in view. He remained alone in the hall, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.

He wondered if Adalbert's desires would have been shared by Julia, or if the decisions he was making now were affected by his lingering anger and bitterness. Certainly Julia would have wanted peace between the noble families, and for everyone to work together for a common goal, but he had scarcely a clue what she would have wanted beyond that.

With a sigh, Conrart shook his head before he could fall too far back into his memories. There were more important things to concern himself with presently. Julia was in the past, and while a part of her lived on inside of Yuuri, his godson was developing into quite a different person - someone just as benevolent, but also far more aggressive. However much they might share in their ideals, Yuuri would never be Julia, and it was his aspirations, not hers, that mattered now.

* * *

Outside the windows, fogged with condensation, the landscape had turned completely white. The structures of their capital city peaked out from the swelling banks of snow, with curls of smoke emanating from the many chimneys that dotted the horizon. The snows had grown heavier since Louis had made his escape from the Great Demon Kingdom, and he considered himself fortunate that Ilyich's diversion from the original plan had not proven too disastrous.

Ilyich may have met his end, and Louis mourned the unnecessary loss of so much potential, but he and the rest of the Black Knights had successfully laid waste to the demon village, then retreated to relative safety across the border in Cimaron. He'd been detained a few days in order to explain Ilyich's rash actions to Belar, who seemed to think he was the sole leader of this war effort, but soon enough he'd been released and allowed to journey home.

He couldn't say he was pleased to be back so soon. They had accomplished much in the way of destruction over the last few months, and had engineered some very successful tests against the Demon King, but the mission had not been completed. The Great Demon Kingdom remained out of their control, and with the change in seasons they would not be able to launch another offensive until weather conditions improved. The years they'd spent gathering information seemed to have helped only a little, and the efforts they'd conducted to infiltrate the enemy ranks were made in vain.

Louis inwardly cursed Ilyich for his failure. The man deserved the death that had befallen him. He'd done no more than make threats and put their enemy on alert, and now they were going to have to think of a new plan of attack. The Demon King and his advisers would surely be aware of their sources of information by now, and could be counted upon to make every effort to cut said sources off. With no way in to their political sphere and a mounting demon tribe offensive against Big Cimaron – their only entry into demon lands – their original plans would be thwarted before they even had a chance to begin.

Had he been in Ilyich's position, he never would have attempted to return to his homeland until the mission was complete. Ilyich had known what was expected of him, and yet he'd chosen to follow his own path instead of the one that had been set for them by their king. Had he not allowed himself to become distracted by his interest in the Demon King, they may have been able to coordinate a full-scale attack on the demon tribe, which Louis was confident would have ended in their favor. They could have been in possession of a portion of demon tribe land by now, instead of regrouping and making alterations to compensate for Ilyich's mistake.

Rifling through a couple of rolls of parchment, Louis familiarized himself with the decisions and arrangements that had been made by the war council in his absence. He'd made himself at home on a lavish bed, languishing nude upon a blanket of fur.

"You mustn't be very warm," a voice said from somewhere behind him.

Louis could hear the soft swish of fabric as it was removed to pool on the floor, but did not turn to face his companion, remaining on his stomach with his attention focused on the documents. "I've always faired better in the cold of winter than in the heat of summer," he said dismissively.

The hearth was alight with a blazing fire, and candles flickered on the table by the bedside. Decorative tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of battle, but the rich furnishings did not dispel the cold entirely. Louis delighted in the slight chill of the room; as harsh as they were and as much of a deterrent as they posed to combat, he usually enjoyed the long Isidorian winters.

"Your body is as cold as your heart, Louis."

He felt the mattress dip as another body climbed up to join him, and the sheets of parchment were snatched away from him by a large hand. They were bounded up and dropped carelessly to the floor, where they rolled out of sight. Louis offered no opposition and exhibited only a small frown in disappointment.

Warmth radiated over his back as his companion hovered above him. A head descended by his own and a pair of lips caressed the side of his neck, while the hands returned to stroke at his skin.

"I had not thought Ilyich's death would affect you so."

Louis released the shortest of laughs, turning his head so that the lips might have access to more skin. "It hasn't. Lord Kurgan made his own fate. He challenged the Demon King and it cost him his life." He paused, and found a smirk replacing his frown. "It seems I owe him an apology."

"Why is that?"

"We had the opportunity to converse before the incident. Lord Kurgan made claims that I could not bring myself to agree with at the time. In the end, he was proven to be correct. The Demon King does indeed possess the capacity to kill."

"All men are capable of killing, Louis. It is a basic instinct." Fingers slipped into his hair, gripping onto the strands and pulling so that his head was forced back. Warm breath tickled his ear as it was spoken into. "Some men remain innocent of the crime only because they choose not to. The Demon King may think himself above such villainy, but he is a man like any other."

Hips lowered atop his own, a muscled chest meeting his back as the fingers released their hold on his hair, and Louis felt a man's hardness press into the valley of his buttocks. He sighed and shifted against it, smirking more at the blissful groan his movements coaxed from his lover.

"Ilyich must be replaced." The words were breathless, as lips attached themselves to Louis's neck again, working the skin in such a way as to leave a mark.

Louis hummed in agreement. "I am sure you will soon find someone as qualified as Lord Kurgan to take up the position."

He felt a smirk against the side of his throat. "Oh, I believe I already have."

The body above his lifted so that his companion was once again hovering over him. One of the large hands rummaged through the bedside drawer, and when it had found what it was seeking, it ghosted down Louis's spine. A slicked finger slipped between the halves of his backside and pressed against the contracted entrance. Louis gasped at the pressure, and felt himself grow hard against the fur blanket.

"No more talk of business. There will be time enough for that later," the voice said. "It has been three weeks and I confess myself dissatisfied. My wife is not as accommodating, nor, I admit, as appealing to my tastes."

The finger slid away as easily as it had come, and Louis groaned softly in disappointment, understanding his lover's dissatisfaction quite well. Hands were quick to grab at him, taking hold of him and rolling him onto his back, so that he was forced to face the other man.

Eyes of the palest blue peered at him from a handsome face, the squared jaw and strong chin shadowed by the coarseness of a day's growth of stubble. Dark brown hair tumbled over his ears to shield the two of them like a curtain, released for the evening from its normal bindings. Strong arms sprouted from wide, rounded shoulders, and a defined torso led down to narrow hips and muscled legs. The entire body had been conditioned for combat, though had seen very little firsthand.

Full lips stretched into an amorous leer. "Give yourself to me, Louis."

Louis returned the look with an expectant smirk, all thought of Ilyich and his failure forgotten. "If that is Your Majesty's pleasure."

The bed creaked as they joined together, and the air filled with the sounds of moans and pants and skin meeting skin. The frigid wind billowed against the castle walls, whirling and shrieking and pelting the world with heavy snows, while the fire crackled and the candles guttered low.

On the far wall, visible to Louis from his position on the bed but ignored as he opened himself to his king, there hung a solitary portrait, surrounded by esoteric jewels in order to protect it from damage or thievery. A boy of tender years stood alone before a red background, adorned in purple with a puff of white lace at his throat, fastened by an expensive brooch. He did not smile, and instead looked severe beyond his years, even as golden curls softened his round face.

But it was the eyes that caused the deepest impression, for they were as green as emeralds, and sparkled with a youthful fire.

**TBC…**


	23. Visiter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. And a poor, sweet, gender-confused baby. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and **sexual content**. I contemplated cutting it down for the site, but ended up leaving it in its original form. I feel like cutting parts of it out would just ruin the effect.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side. But very much Yuuri/Wolfram in this chapter.

**Rating:** M. Most definitely.

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty-Three - Visiter - To Visit**

Merry screamed when they surfaced in the small blow-up pool that had been left in the backyard, his piercing wails cutting through what would have otherwise been a marginally quiet, peaceful neighborhood.

Yuuri couldn't really blame him, though he wished he wouldn't be so loud. The ear-splitting shrieks were going to attract attention, and he'd rather not have the neighbors become curious as to why he was partly submerged in a little kid pool during winter with a foreigner and a screaming baby that, at least by appearance, was obviously not his.

"What the hell, Yuuri?" Wolfram cursed and sputtered, drenched from head to toe, his hair dripping around his face as Merry flailed in his arms. "What were you thinking, bringing us out here like this? It's freezing!"

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, then cursed to himself as he climbed out of the pool, sloshing water onto the frozen ground. "I forgot it was outside, okay? It's not my fault Mom and Dad left it out here! You're just lucky it wasn't frozen over, or that we didn't end up in the park or something, because then not only would you have been freezing, but you would have had to walk, too!"

Wolfram glared at him as Yuuri helped he and Merry out of the pool. "Don't snap at me like _I_ had something to do with it!"

"I'm not snapping at you! _You're_ snapping at _me_!"

"Only because you're getting an attitude!"

"How am I getting an attitude? You yelled at me first! How was I supposed to know we'd end up out here instead of inside somewhere?"

"Well… you should have taken the time to sort all this out before bringing us here!"

"I tried, but you didn't exactly let me! You were the one who kept nagging at me to hurry up!"

"I was not nagging!"

"'Yuuri~!'" he mocked him, raising his voice into a whine. "'What's taking so long~? Yuuri~! Why don't we go already~? We're going to miss dinner~! How much longer, Yuuri~?'"

"If you're trying to impersonate me, you're doing a horrible job. I don't sound anything like that!"

"Yes, you do!"

"I do not!"

"You do, too!"

"Yuu-chan?"

Yuuri turned when he heard his mother call his name, and saw her coming out through the sliding glass door. His and Wolfram's bickering immediately ceased, though Merry continued to wail loudly, looking between the two of them with big, helpless eyes as if to beg them to fix things. Yuuri winced in sympathy when he looked at the soaked baby, then smiled at his mother, shivering slightly in his wet clothes.

"Hey, Mom," he greeted her, hoping they hadn't startled her too badly. "Surprise!"

Miko blinked at them, like she couldn't believe her eyes, before her face brightened and she let out a cheer, squeezing the breath out of Yuuri as she bolted to him and hugged him. "Oh, Yuu-chan! It's been months! You had Mama so worried! Look at your hair! When did you cut it so short? You look so handsome!"

"S-Sorry, and recently. Things have been busy," he wheezed, patting at her back to let her know that further squeezing would not be necessary. "M-Mom, I can't breathe."

She let go of him as quickly as she'd latched on, turning her gushing to her son-in-law as she gasped in excitement. "You brought Wol-chan!" she exclaimed, and proceeded to hug the life out of him as well, nearly squishing Merry between them. "How are you, Wol-chan? Has Yuu-chan been treating you well? If he ever gives you a hard time, you just tell me and let Mama take care of everything! Oh, good! You're still wearing the ring I gave you!"

Wolfram looked both happy to see her and overwhelmed by her overeager greeting, and Yuuri moved forward to save both he and the baby from his mother's grasping clutches. "Mom, you're scaring him."

"No, I'm not! Don't be so silly!"

She released him anyway, though she made a point of looking him over to make sure he hadn't changed at all since the last time they'd seen one another. It was then that she noticed Merry, and Yuuri could only roll his eyes at his mother's obliviousness. He didn't see how anyone else would have gone without noticing the baby, considering he was still screaming at the top of his lungs.

Miko stared at him for a few moments, silent, like she'd never seen a baby before. Merry stared back, squalling and whimpering in distress as he clung to Wolfram's front. He paused in his crying to sneeze, his big eyes squeezing shut as his entire body jerked, before he went back to weeping hysterically.

Yuuri could practically see the stars in his mother's eyes, and watched her excitement slowly build, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion.

"When did you have a baby?" she shouted when she could contain herself no longer, reaching out to snatch Merry from Wolfram's arms before either of them could say anything about it. She rained kisses all over his face and crooned to him in a high, girlish voice. "Such a cute, pretty little baby! Oh, just look at how adorable you are! My little grandbaby! Hello, there! I'm your grandma! But you can just call me 'Mama!'"

Merry stopped crying again, or at least his wails quieted to soft sniffles. He looked at Miko with something resembling confusion, before his head turned to seek out Wolfram. "Mammm-ma!"

Wolfram blinked back at him, dumbfounded, while Miko crowed "He knows my name!"

"Somehow I think he was talking to Wolfram, Mom."

Miko either didn't hear him or chose not to listen, cuddling Merry to her as she ushered them away from the pool. "You're all soaked!" she cried, as if she hadn't just gotten wet herself as she'd hugged them. "Get inside! You must be freezing!"

Yuuri sighed as he followed her into the house, letting Wolfram precede him through the sliding glass door. It was good to see that, while conditions in the other world were continuously changing, everything at home was still pretty much as it had always been. He felt refreshed to be back, even if his mother's whimsical nature could often be tiring.

It was warm in the house, though Yuuri continued to shiver, his clothes clinging to him uncomfortably. He looked around while Miko prattled on, noting that the TV was playing some afternoon talk-show that she liked to watch, and that the furniture had been rearranged a bit to make room for a gaily decorated Christmas tree. Some of the usual knick-knacks his mother had laying around had also been removed, replaced for the time being with more seasonal arrangements.

Footsteps from above alerted Yuuri to Shori's presence, and he watched as his older brother came trotting down the stairs. "Hey, Shori."

Shori stopped at the very bottom, looking both happy to see him and confused by his sudden arrival. "Hey," he greeted him in return, sparing a glance at Wolfram and Merry as well. "Whose kid is that?"

"Mine, now. Or mine and Wolfram's. We adopted him."

"You make Mama so happy, Yuu-chan!" Miko continued to gush. "Here I'd thought I'd never have grandbabies and now I have two!" She paused, then looked around as if searching for someone else, realizing as she spoke that they were missing someone. "Where's Greta-chan?"

"She decided to stay home," Yuuri explained, a little disappointed that Greta hadn't come with them. He'd wanted to be together as a family for a while, but she was old enough to be making her own decisions now, and she'd been pretty adamant about them going without her. "You and Wolfram need some time alone. I'll be fine here with Grandma Celi, Gwendal, and Anissina," she'd said. "Go and have fun. Be newlyweds. But make sure you tell Grandma and Grandpa I said 'hi' and that I love them!"

Yuuri wasn't sure how much time he and Wolfram would actually have alone with Merry around. Once he'd remembered they'd have to travel through water to get there, he'd considered leaving Merry behind with Lady Celi, but Gisela had reassured him that Merry would instinctively hold his breath until they resurfaced again, and that he would be fine for the journey as long as it was a quick one. Wolfram had also convinced him otherwise, claiming they needed to introduce him to his new grandparents, and that it would be wrong to leave him behind when they were now responsible for his care and safety.

The paperwork had been signed and filed the day before. Provided no one came forward to claim Merry as their family and offer to take him in, he and Wolfram were now his legal guardians. Like everything that Wolfram undertook, he was taking the new responsibility very seriously. He was with Merry at all hours of the day and night, and relinquished him to someone else only when there was work to be done. He was the first to see him when he awoke early every morning - a great accomplishment for Wolfram, who liked to sleep more than anything - and was the last to see him before bed every night.

It was adorable how hard Wolfram was trying to be a good parent to the new baby, as he had when they'd adopted Greta, and Yuuri was happy to let him do as much of the work as he wanted. He knew only a little about babies himself, and questioned his abilities to take care of Merry properly. Wolfram gained a little more confidence every day, and Yuuri was satisfied to sit by and watch him.

Presently, his husband stood shivering by Miko, who still held Merry close in her arms. Wolfram smiled at the baby, trying to get him to calm down and stop crying, and Merry looked back at him with complete trust. Merry had quickly adjusted to his change in circumstances, and looked to Wolfram for safety and comfort as he'd previously looked to Karl and Nastia.

"You'll have to bring her presents back to her," Miko was saying, and Yuuri snapped out of his daze to glance from Wolfram and Merry to his mother. "I just finished Christmas shopping the other day. I was hoping you'd come. I hardly get to see any of you anymore."

She pouted and Yuuri immediately felt guilty. "I'm sorry, Mom. We wanted to come sooner, but with the war and all-"

"What war?" Shori was quick to jump in, and Yuuri winced when he realized his family didn't have any clue about what had been going on in the other world since the wedding.

"Umm. Well, you see… some things happened and-"

His mother saved him, and Yuuri thought he would never be so thankful for her flightiness. "Now's not the time to talk about all of that! You're dripping all over the floor! Yuu-chan, take Wol-chan upstairs to change into some of your clothes. I'll take care of the baby!"

"O-Okay." Yuuri inched around Shori, grabbing Wolfram by the arm to drag him along with him.

"Ow, Yuuri! Do you have to squeeze so hard?" Wolfram snapped, looking over his shoulder to make sure Merry was going to be okay while Yuuri pulled him up the stairs.

They reached safety in his old bedroom after grabbing some towels from the bathroom, and Yuuri quickly shut the door behind them to keep his older brother from following, letting out a sigh once they were safe from his questioning. "Sorry," he apologized, releasing Wolfram's arm to rummage around for some clothes. "Go ahead and get undressed. I'll find something for you to wear."

He realized too late that that might pose some difficulties. Before, it had been easy to dress Wolfram in Earthen clothes; being the same size had had its benefits. Now things were a little different. He might not be as tall as Shori or Conrad yet, but he was nearly a head above Wolfram and wider in the shoulders. His pants would be long on him, his shirts would be loose, and his shoes probably wouldn't fit at all.

"I should have kept some of my old clothes for you. I don't know why I didn't think of that," he mumbled, scrounging together whatever he could find that he thought might fit decently enough, ending up with a pair of lounge pants that tied with a draw-string, and a plain, long-sleeved t-shirt.

Wolfram had finished stripping off his wet clothes when he turned around, and Yuuri paused with his hand outstretched to give him the pants and shirt. The towel he'd given him had been wrapped around his slim waist, though Wolfram's hair was still damp and hung around his face in wavy tendrils of dark gold. Beads of water dripped from the tips to slide along his white shoulders, some disappearing behind him to trail down his back. Yuuri's eyes locked on a drop that trickled down his pale chest, his gaze breaking only when Wolfram lifted his arms to self-consciously cross them.

"What?" his husband asked, his cheeks stained a soft rose.

Yuuri shook his head and cleared his throat. "Nothing," he said, "but you should finish drying off. You're going to catch a cold." He set the clothes aside and stepped in to loosen the towel from around Wolfram's waist.

"What are you doing?" Wolfram moved back, but he didn't go very far, and the towel slipped away to leave him naked and shivering.

"Calm down. You're just going to get wet again if you leave your hair like that," Yuuri said, lifting the towel to his head to rub it over his blond hair. Wolfram cowered a bit as he hunched in on himself, though he remained in place and let Yuuri finish drying him off.

Yuuri took pity on him soon enough, and once his hair was no longer dripping, he stopped toweling him and handed him the change of clothes. "Here. If it doesn't fit well enough, I'll try to find something else. Tomorrow we can go shopping or something, get you some clothes that actually fit right. I'm sure Mom would love that. She's always talked about taking you shopping."

Wolfram nodded in agreement but said nothing, shielding himself with the small pile of clothes he'd been given, showing Yuuri a flustered frown, his face still a delightful shade of pink. He recovered enough to lift his nose into the air with an imperious "hmph!" and turned his back on Yuuri to dress himself and work on lessening the color in his cheeks.

Yuuri smiled indulgently, and while he went about procuring some clothes for himself, he spared a few surreptitious glances in his husband's direction. Wolfram was lithely muscled, not big and brawny like his older brothers, but slim and graceful. His soldier's physique had thinned over the last few months due to stress and lack of action, as he was no longer expected to patrol the land or deal with matters of crime that cropped up around the capital. His arms and legs were long and lean; Yuuri could see the movement of his shoulder blades beneath his skin, and the knobs of his spine when he leaned over to pull the lounge pants up his legs.

His eyes curiously lowered to Wolfram's rear, and he allowed himself to quickly examine it while fighting a blush of his own. He'd never really cared to look at it before, which a part of his mind now thought was quite a shame, for it was a very nice looking backside, though he didn't have much to compare it to - except his own, which he thought was rather flat in comparison.

It was covered before he could stare for very long, and he busied himself with rummaging through his clothes again so that Wolfram would not see that he'd been watching him. He licked his lips when he realized they were dry, and pulled his clothes off to quickly run a towel over his hair and skin, before focusing on exchanging his sodden uniform for jeans and a comfortable shirt. He noticed that Wolfram had turned around to face him only when he'd pulled the shirt over his head and slid his arms into the sleeves.

He nervously cleared his throat a second time when he realized Wolfram must have been watching him, too. "You okay?" he asked, trying to act naturally.

Wolfram looked down at himself and shrugged. "It's a little big, but I'll survive."

Yuuri nodded and looked him over again. "You're going to trip if you leave the pants like that," he said. The cuffs of the pants pooled around Wolfram's feet, in danger of being caught beneath his heels when he walked.

Kneeling down, Yuuri reached out to roll the cuffs up so that they rested on the tops of Wolfram's feet, looking up at him with a small smile once he was done, standing slowly. Wolfram's gaze followed him, his chin lifting slightly to look up at him. His green eyes sparkled brightly, his face still lightly flushed. When Yuuri leaned in to place a kiss against his forehead, Wolfram sighed and smiled softly in contentment, then tilted his head up more to peck him on the lips.

Yuuri was half tempted to pull him closer and kiss him more thoroughly, but his mother's voice from downstairs prevented him from acting. "Yuu-chan! Bring your wet clothes down once you're done changing so I can wash them!"

He groaned, but it was only halfhearted, pulling away from Wolfram a bit reluctantly to grab their discarded clothes and carry them with him. "Come on, let's go back downstairs."

Wolfram followed him without protest, and together they left his small room to make their way back to the living room. Yuuri made a quick detour to deposit their clothes into the laundry room, seeing Merry's already in a basket by the washing machine. He returned moments later and looked around at his family. Shori had seated himself on the couch with his arms over his chest, his expression expectant. Yuuri did his best not to meet his gaze, turning to the other three instead.

Miko had dried Merry off as much as she could, but since they didn't have any baby clothes in the house there was nothing else to change him into, and so he'd been wrapped in a fluffy towel. His blue eyes caught sight of Yuuri and Wolfram as soon as they entered the room, and he whimpered in such a way that Yuuri knew he was looking for attention from one of them. For a normally easygoing and cheerful baby, Merry could sometimes fall into a foul mood, and their trip through the cold water seemed to have triggered one. He fussed angrily, and only quieted when Wolfram moved to take him from Miko.

"Why don't I make you some hot chocolate?" his mother suggested before prancing into the kitchen.

Yuuri followed her, eager to get away from Shori's watchful gaze, but he was stopped when Miko shoved a piece of paper into his face. "What's this?" he asked, taking it from her to scan it over.

"Things you need to buy for the baby. He needs clothes, and diapers, and you should get some toys for him, too. I think we may still have your old playpen somewhere in the attic. He can sleep in that while you're here so you don't have to worry about a crib, but you should definitely get a stroller. Not to mention bottles and formula, and you should really be starting him on baby food by now, especially fruits and vegetables. And there's cereal you can get. It's all on the list!"

Yuuri blinked at her and glanced over the lengthy list a second time. "Umm. Okay, sure."

She paused in filling a tea kettle with water, setting it on the stove and placing her hands on her hips, lifting a brow expectantly.

He blinked again. "Oh, you mean now?"

"Of course I mean now! You can't just leave him like that! He needs to be fed and clothed!"

"I know! I just… er… I don't exactly have the money."

"Don't be silly, Yuu-chan. Sho-chan will help you."

"I will?" Shori asked, standing from the couch to come over to them. "Since when?"

"Since now," their mother responded, somewhat sternly. "If you're going to be the Demon King of Earth, then you can start by helping your younger brother buy things for your new nephew. You have plenty of money from Bob, so be generous with it."

"Wait," Yuuri said, desperate to get out of the errand. "Where's Dad?"

"At work, of course, but he'll be home for dinner."

"Well, then can't you have him pick this stuff up on his way home?"

Miko frowned and Yuuri winced, backing away timidly. "Aren't you the one who adopted the baby?" she prodded.

"'Merry,'" he told her.

"Fine. Aren't you the one who adopted Meri-chan?" she corrected herself, looking as stern as she could.

"Er… yeah…"

"And as his new papa, don't you think buying him clothes and food is your responsibility?"

"Well… y-yeah, but-"

"So shouldn't you be the one to go shopping for him, instead of relying on your papa to do it for you when he's already been working so hard today?"

"Umm… I guess…?"

In an instant, Miko's disappointed frown turned into a bright smile. "Then you and Sho-chan can go out and do a little shopping! It won't take long, and I'll have dinner ready by the time you get home!"

"Let me guess - curry, right?" Yuuri surmised, his shoulders slumping as he resigned himself to spending the afternoon with his older brother. "Why don't I take Wolfram with me?"

"Wol-chan and I need to have some time together. I haven't seen him since the wedding. I want to make sure you're being good to him."

"Of course I'm being good to him," he grumbled, before shoving the shopping list into his back pocket. "Fine, I'll go."

Shori only looked slightly more pleased by the idea than he did. Neither one of them enjoyed shopping unless it had something to do with baseball or video games, and this wouldn't concern either hobby. Shori had probably only ceased his arguments at the thought that this little excursion would give him some time alone with his younger brother, time he could use to interrogate him about current events in the other world.

"I'll drive," he offered, and Yuuri accepted with a grunt.

Wolfram had been silent through the entire exchange, but he looked satisfied enough when Yuuri turned to say his goodbyes. "I'll see you in a little bit. Are you going to be okay here with Mom?"

"I can't see why I wouldn't be," he said, adjusting the towel around Merry, who had gone back to clinging to his front with one hand. He brought the other to his mouth so he could suck on his thumb.

"Alright. Have fun then. I'll see if I can get some things for you, too."

"Buy him some pajamas, and something to wear tomorrow, but nothing else!" Miko demanded. "I want to take him shopping for the rest of it!"

Yuuri rolled his eyes and sighed, but agreed to follow her conditions. He kissed Wolfram's forehead again and earned another curious looked from his brother, which he ignored. Moving out to the foyer to search for some shoes and a jacket to wear, Yuuri sat on the step to tie his sneakers before heading outside.

Shori followed him, closing the door on their mother's fawning over Wolfram and the baby after grabbing his keys and wallet. Yuuri expected him to start questioning him right away, and was only slightly relieved when the inquiry did not commence, since he knew it would happen eventually.

His brother fiddled with his keys and clicked a button on a small controller, which caused an unfamiliar vehicle to beep in the driveway. Confused, Yuuri looked from his brother to the car in question, gaping when his eyes fell on a sleek, black automobile that was new, well-maintained, and obviously expensive.

"When did you get your own car?" he exclaimed, quickly moving over to it to examine it more closely.

"About a month ago. It was a gift from Bob," Shori replied with a smirk.

"What, he just throws cars at you like they're nothing?"

Shori shrugged, opening the driver's side door to climb in. "I don't see why you're complaining. You have a huge castle, a treasury full of gold, and a stable full of horses."

"Yeah, but… I mean, it's a car!" He could tell Shori was very pleased by his gushing and envy, and though he would have liked to disappoint him by feigning disinterest, he couldn't prevent himself from wistfully gazing at it. "I wish I had a car," he said, settling into the passenger seat and looking around at the interior.

"You don't need one. You're in the other world for most of the year now. Put your seatbelt on."

Yuuri paused in his exploration to pull the seatbelt across him and click it into place, then went back to fiddling with knobs and pressing buttons.

"What are you? Five?" Shori asked, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway to begin driving down the street.

"Ha ha," Yuuri said sarcastically, pulling open the glove-compartment to shift around inside, flipping through the owner's manual before putting it back and scanning some other papers he found inside. "What are these? Plane tickets?" he asked, looking at them carefully, noting the date and destination printed on each. "Why are you, Mom and Dad going to Boston on the twentieth?"

"Bob's Christmas party."

"Why's it in Boston and not Switzerland?"

"Because it is. He's hosting it at his Boston branch this year. As his successor, I'm more or less obligated to go. Mom wanted to come along, so I got tickets for she and Dad." He paused, stopping at an intersection before effortlessly turning onto another street. "I guess you and Wolfram will be coming now. Remind me to give Bob a call when we get back. Unless you'd rather stay here by yourselves. The both of you look rather cozy now."

Yuuri tried not to blush, and focused on neatly putting the tickets back where he'd found them. "No, we'll go if you can manage it. Wolfram might like to see Boston anyway. He liked Earth the last time he came."

Shori nodded and fell silent for a moment, before Yuuri saw his gaze shift toward him out of the corner of his eye. "So are you going to tell me about the war?" he asked. "When did that happen?"

Yuuri shifted uncomfortably, closing the glove-compartment and leaning back in his seat, looking out the window as he answered him. "A couple of months ago. Umm… the last time I was here, I guess. Wolfram signed the Declaration of War while I was gone."

"I thought you told him you didn't want him to."

"I did, but… the others kinda pressured him into it," he said, though he was quick to add, "but I'm okay with it! I mean, I didn't want a war at the time, but I know this is how it has to be now. We can't let Lyron do anything more than he's done already."

"Who the hell is Lyron?"

Yuuri glanced at his brother, before realizing he'd never told him about anything more than Cimaron. "Lyron's the king of Isidore."

"I thought Big Cimaron was your enemy. Haven't they taken over some of your allies?"

"Yeah, but Isidore's our enemy now, too. We just didn't realize it before. We assumed it was Cimaron attacking us, and it was at first, but then Isidore came into the picture and… things got more complicated."

"And that's why you haven't been home in a while?"

"Pretty much. I haven't really had the time."

Shori was silent again, looking out the windshield with a frown on his face. "Are you being careful?"

Yuuri frowned as well, and took his time deciding how much he wanted to tell him. He'd known the topic of the conditions in the other world was going to come up at some point, whether it be with his older brother or his father, and while he'd planned on telling them about the war, he hadn't thought filling them in on all the details would be advisable. Shori already worried enough, and he didn't want to have his father become overly concerned about it, too.

"Yeah," he finally said, and forced himself to sound convincing as he lied. The more he masked the truth, the easier it became for him to do. "There's nothing to worry about. Gwendal and Conrad are pretty sure it won't last long, and things will go back to normal. Isidore was a surprise, but nothing we can't handle."

If only it were that simple…

"Everything's alright at the castle then?" Shori wondered, sparing him a quick look before focusing back on the road.

"Oh, yeah. Nothing to worry about. You've seen Blood Pledge Castle, Shori. I doubt anyone would be able to get in so easily."

"You haven't done anything stupid and reckless, have you?"

"No. I've been at the castle the whole time. Gwendal and the others wouldn't let me go out and be reckless, anyway."

He could tell that Shori was suspicious, but he kept a smile on his face and seemed as earnest as he could, and his brother eventually let it drop.

"You'll let me know if you need any help, right?" he asked.

"Of course," Yuuri said, his smile growing more genuine. He felt horrible lying to his brother, but the more that happened to him, the less he felt like talking about it to people. Wolfram was the only one he felt the need to share anything with now.

He tried not to let his relief show when Shori's questioning ended, glad that he'd stopped so soon and that he didn't have to keep deceiving him. They spoke of less sinister things after that - Shori's studies and business ventures with Bob, the people he'd met as he trained to replace the Demon King of Earth, the places he'd had the opportunity to visit, the girls he'd had the pleasure to become acquainted with. Yuuri smiled and listened to it all, hiding the sadness he was beginning to feel inside.

Everything was so simple for Shori. Managing a huge conglomerate and directing a hidden people on Earth naturally had its difficult moments, and Yuuri didn't envy him the amount of meetings and paperwork he had to take care of. He did, however, envy the calm and peace, and allowed himself a few moments to wonder what his life would have been like if he hadn't been born to be a king in another world. What would have become of him if he'd been normal all along?

He wouldn't have met Wolfram, that was for sure, or Conrad, or Gwendal, or Gunter, or Greta and Merry, and that thought was enough to end his daydreams of a normal life. Wolfram meant too much to him now for him to consider living without him; Greta and Merry were his children, however young he might be, and regardless of where they'd come from; and he'd grown to depend on the others too much to imagine a life without Gwendal's glowering, Gunter's emotional theatrics, and Conrad's steady guidance.

He wouldn't trade what he had in the other world for anything - not a stadium full of cheering fans as he slammed a ball out of the park, or his previous ideal of a modest wife, a couple of kids, and a quaint suburban house. No woman, no matter how humble and polite, could ever replace Wolfram, just as no other child could take the place of Greta. Even Merry was growing on him now, crawling into his world and squeezing into the mental image he had of his family, and Yuuri couldn't think of a better baby to have as his son.

He owed it to them to get his act together, and he intended to use this trip to Earth to make some changes. He was going to rest as his advisers had wanted him to - he'd admit that he probably needed it after going to the front, and maybe even deserved it - but he was also going to use this time to do some serious soul-searching, and hopefully figure out who he was now and who he wanted to be in the future.

Shori parked his car in an open spot, and he and Yuuri climbed back out to begin shopping. They walked down the busy streets and congested sidewalks to search for the shops their mother had indicated on the shopping list.

Now that they were weaving their way through the pedestrian traffic, Yuuri was grateful for Shori's company and the help he'd provide in purchasing the necessary items for Merry. He never would have been able to afford it all on his own, even if he'd still been receiving an allowance from his parents, and he'd have felt guiltier using his mother and father's money than he felt using Shori's - whose position as Bob's successor gave him access to nearly unlimited funding.

Together they picked out a stroller, the both of them feeling rather awkward as they were confronted by the sale's lady, who seemed to find it uncommon for two young men to be interested in baby carriages. The clothes were easier, though Yuuri was careful to make sure he chose outfits in the correct size, putting up with Shori's teasing as he lifted frilly pink dresses and suggested that Wolfram might like he and Merry to match. They bought receiving blankets to guard against spit up, pacifiers since Merry seemed to like sucking on things so much, some toys, diapers, baby powder, cream to soothe diaper rash, baby soaps and shampoos, bottles, formula, and jars of baby food.

Yuuri could hardly believe a baby could need so many things, and thanked Shori profusely as they left each store loaded down with bags. His brother, for the most part, was kind and civil and refuted his suggestion of reimbursement, but he did take any opportunity he could get to tease and goad him, as he was wont to do. Yuuri put up with it and even laughed at some of his remarks about Wolfram, whom Shori continued to refer to as his 'wife' - which Yuuri thought was a little mean and hoped Wolfram never heard him say things like that, but he let it slide - and jokingly agreed that the next baby would be named after him.

They were on their way back to the car when another shop caught Yuuri's attention, and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at the sign. Shori didn't notice that he was no longer beside him right away, and had to backtrack to keep from losing him in the crowd, looking between he and the shop in confusion.

"A bookstore?" he questioned, surprised by Yuuri's interest. "I thought you hated reading anything but comic books and sports magazines."

"I do, usually," Yuuri said, considering the shop for a little longer before heading in.

Shori went with him, his confusion growing. "What are you doing?"

"I just want to look up some stuff real quick. Would you mind holding these for a little bit?" He held out the bags he was carrying, smiling at his brother's look of unease before wandering farther into the store.

He scanned over the shelves by himself for a little while, casually strolling into the section labeled 'history,' and peering at the spines of each book for anything that may assist him. Very soon he decided he had little idea as to where to begin, and looked around for one of the employees. He found a pretty high school girl stocking one of the shelves in the back, smiling nervously as he approached her.

"Umm, excuse me. I was wondering if you knew of any good books on Medieval and Early Modern history," he said.

The girl looked at him curiously, then shook her head. "No, sorry, but I can ask someone else who might be able to help you."

He nodded in thanks, waiting for her to speak with some of her fellow employees, before an older gentleman was directed over to him, greeting him with a pleasant smile.

Yuuri left the store with a stack of books detailing a large chunk of European history, from the fall of the Roman Empire to the first days of the French Revolution. He had volumes about warfare and weaponry, politics, religion, and influential monarchs, chivalry, art, literature, and anything else he thought might aid him in better understanding the other world and the sort of society he'd come to live in. The Great Demon Kingdom might still be different than what he could learn from Earth's history, but he hoped that having additional background knowledge in things he was more familiar with would help him to greater appreciate the beliefs and opinions in his own kingdom.

"You got enough there?" Shori asked, eyeing the large stack as he paid for them, picking one up to quickly scan through. "Somehow I find it hard to believe you're actually going to read all that. It doesn't look like the sort of reading you'd find entertaining."

"I'll manage," Yuuri said with a smile, adding his bags of books to his previous purchases. He'd made sure to get something that might interest Wolfram, too - a picture book of castles - and he'd bought a few children's books to read to Merry, who might like the bright colors even if he didn't understand the words.

They walked back to Shori's car after leaving the bookstore, piling their bags into the surprisingly spacious trunk before returning to their seats and heading home. They kept up a constant stream of chatter, but their conversation refrained from going back to unpleasant events. With Shori as with Conrad, Yuuri could share in his passion for baseball; the season might be over, but there was still plenty to discuss and speculate over, and delving into his old hobbies gave him the chance to forget the war, at least for a time.

Shori helped him with his purchases once they'd arrived home, struggling with the door as they made their way in with their hands full, numerous bags hanging off of each arm. Yuuri let out a large breath of air once the door had closed behind them, setting the bags down for a few moments to remove his winter coat and shoes.

"We're home!" he announced, leaving the stroller where it was by the door, but taking some of the bags with him into the living room.

The scene that greeted him was both quaint and heartwarming. Miko and Wolfram sat close to one another on the couch, quietly talking and sharing bits of news. Occasionally, Miko would burst into a fit of excitement and gush over her son-in-law, and Wolfram would sit patiently and bask in her love and happiness, a small, peaceful smile softening his face and warming his eyes.

Shoma sat next to them now, having come home from work some time ago. He hadn't changed from his suit yet, but he'd removed his jacket and loosened the tie, his shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had Merry in his lap, still wrapped in the fluffy towel, making goofy faces at him and bouncing him in place as he chanted some English rhyme he'd picked up when they'd lived in Boston.

"Trot, trot to Boston; Trot, trot to Lynn; Trot, trot over the bridge, but don't fall in!" His knees fell away to let Merry drop between them, holding him under his arms to keep him from tumbling all the way to the floor, but still providing the baby with quite a thrill. Merry shrieked with laughter, his foul mood from before now nothing more than a memory.

"Having fun, Dad?" Yuuri asked, amused.

Shoma looked up to smile back at him, returning Merry to his lap to go back to bouncing him on his knees. "It's been nineteen years since there's been a baby in the house. Give your old man a break."

Yuuri chuckled lightly, setting some of his bags down again and moving over to where Wolfram and his mother sat, wedging himself between them with a tired sigh. Shori took the other bags into the kitchen to begin putting away the baby food.

"You were gone a while," Wolfram observed, shifting a bit closer to him to lean into his side.

"Sorry. The list was long, but I didn't realize it would be that much. And it was crowded. We could only go so fast."

Wolfram shook his head, gently taking one of his hands. "It's alright. Did you get everything we need?"

"As far as I know. I got everything Mom told me to at least."

Yuuri looked over at his father and Merry again when the baby squealed, watching Shoma shamelessly play with him.

"The grand old Duke of York, he had ten thousand men; he marched them up to the top of the hill, and he marched them down again! And when they were up, they were up!" He lifted Merry high into the air with each 'up,' resulting in a few more happy squeaks and giggles, before dropping him low again. "And when they were down, they were down! And when they were only half way up, they were neither up nor down!"

"There are plenty of good Japanese rhymes, you know," Yuuri told him, laughing as his father continued to attempt the English ones. Shoma's English wasn't bad considering he'd spent a lot of time in the States, but it didn't sound as natural as Japanese.

"I'll get to them in a bit," Shoma declared.

"Now that Sho-chan and Yuu-chan are back, we should get Meri-chan dressed," Miko said, standing from the couch to go to the bags Yuuri had left on the floor, sifting through them to find some of the clothes they'd bought, grabbing a diaper as well. "Come here, Wol-chan. Let Mama show you how to put a diaper on! They're different on Earth!"

The rest of the evening passed quickly. Miko's curry was served for dinner and Yuuri and his father spent some time discussing the previous baseball season, reviewing the Lions' performance and considering the deals that might be made with the American Major Leagues over the winter. Shori added his own thoughts, while Wolfram and Miko talked amongst themselves, less interested in things like baseball than the other three were - or not interested in it at all, in Wolfram's case.

After dinner, Shori called Bob to inform him that Yuuri and Wolfram would be joining them for the Christmas gala and saw to adjusting the flight plan, while Shoma ventured into the small attic to find Yuuri and Shori's old portable crib for Merry to sleep in, as well as an old highchair, which turned out to be some of the only things his parents had saved from his childhood - other than the horrible art projects his mother had stashed away in boxes somewhere, and her large collection of photo albums and home videos. The pen was set up in his bedroom, crammed next to his bed, and the amount of space it took up made his room seem even smaller than usual.

Merry was put to bed at around eight o'clock, tired out from an evening of play with his new grandparents. Yuuri and Wolfram remained downstairs watching a movie on the television with Shoma, Shori, and Miko, but soon found that they were both tired as well, and made their way up to Yuuri's room once the movie had ended.

"I got some pajamas for you while Shori and I were out today," Yuuri told his husband, keeping his voice low so he wouldn't accidentally wake up the baby. Searching through one of the shopping bags, he handed Wolfram a set of purple flannel pajamas. Shori had badgered him to look through the women's section for a nightgown, and while Yuuri had laughed at the idea and thought that Wolfram probably wouldn't be very uncomfortable wearing one on Earth, too, but had settled for pants and a top instead.

"Thank you," Wolfram said through a yawn, taking the clothing from him and quickly changing into it, before climbing onto Yuuri's narrow bed and sliding under the covers.

Yuuri chuckled softly, then went about changing himself, sliding in after him. "You think you can move over a bit? I'm going to fall off."

"You'd think since we're married now, you'd get a bigger bed," Wolfram grumbled, shifting a little closer to the wall.

"I don't think there's much of a point when we're hardly here for much of the year. A bed like the one we have at home wouldn't fit anyway."

"Who cares if it's as big as our bed at home, just so long as we actually fit in it?"

Yuuri smiled and let out a breath of air through his nose, moving to snuggle against Wolfram's back, slinging his left arm - healed now - over his waist. Leaning closer, he kissed his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. "Sorry, Your Majesty," he teased him. "We'll have a bigger bed at the hotel in Boston."

Wolfram glanced back at him, frowning and grumbling to himself, before making himself comfortable in Yuuri's embrace. "We'll just have to sleep close together for now."

"I don't think that'll be much of a problem," Yuuri said, smiling as he closed his eyes, holding Wolfram a bit tighter. "You don't need an excuse anymore, you know."

The only response he received was Wolfram's deep, even breathing.

Chuckling again and marveling over how quickly his husband could fall asleep, Yuuri kissed the back of his head.

Wolfram didn't toss and turn at all that night; he remained motionless in Yuuri's arms, as he did every time Yuuri held him.

* * *

"Yuu-chan~! It's time to wake up~! We'll be leaving in a little while~!"

Yuuri whimpered tiredly as his mother's chirping interrupted his pleasant dreams, bringing him into the land of wakefulness instead of allowing him to continue basking in the warmth and comfort of his narrow twin-sized bed. He groaned as he rolled over, turning to peer blearily at his alarm clock, which sat softly ticking on the bedside table. The hour was early - even earlier than he awoke in the other world to begin his morning training with Conrad - as the sun had yet to begin to rise.

He'd spent the previous evening reading through one of his new books, carefully taking notes on anything he thought seemed relevant, scribbling away in one of the old notebooks he'd never filled up in high school. He'd grown so absorbed with his studying that he hadn't noticed how late it had grown until Wolfram's previously characteristic flailing in bed had gained his attention well after mid-night. Hastily packing his books into his well-used book bag with the intention of taking his study materials with him, Yuuri had quickly slid into bed to still Wolfram's thrashing and calm him into less active sleep.

He was exhausted. His eyelids felt heavy and drooping, his back was stiff and sore from sitting in his desk chair, bent over a book for countless hours, and his head ached from sleep deprivation. He hadn't even felt this bad after sleepless nights by the battlefield, and he wondered how he was going to handle the long day of traveling ahead without passing out on the plane.

"I'm up, I'm up," he told his mother, his voice raspy from sleep, his throat feeling a little sore.

Turning off his alarm since there was no longer any need for it to go off in five minutes, Yuuri turned back to face the wall his bed rested against, seeking out the young man beside him, only to realize that his arm now rested against the mattress and not comfortably across a trim waist. Blinking in momentary confusion, Yuuri pushed himself up to glance around the room, looking in the direction of Merry's portable crib to see that the baby had also vanished.

"Wolf?" he called, sliding out of bed and stumbling a little as his head spun. He had to take a few seconds to come to his senses, waiting for the rest of his sleep to fade away, massaging his temples in an attempt to get his mind working.

"Wol-chan's downstairs feeding Meri-chan breakfast," Miko said as she poked her head in, more energetic and alive than any sane person should be so early in the morning. "Hurry and get dressed. Papa's going to come get your things once he's done with his shower and put them in the car. Make sure you keep your carry-on with you!"

"Right," Yuuri said as she dashed out of sight.

He looked around for some clothes, digging through one of his drawers before remembering that he's set an outfit aside the night before. Making sure his door was closed and locked so his mother wouldn't burst in while he was changing, Yuuri stripped off his pajamas and carelessly tossed them onto his unmade bed, pulling on a fresh pair of boxer shorts, a long-sleeved baseball tee, and some loose fitting jeans.

He would have liked to take a shower himself, if only to wake him up more, but he didn't think he'd have the time. Sniffing at himself to make sure he didn't smell too badly, Yuuri grabbed a stick of deodorant to swipe it on, then ran his fingers through his short black locks in the hopes that it wouldn't look quite so messy. Still a bit unbalanced mentally, he dragged his hands down his face and felt the roughness of growing hair, sighing to himself when he realized he hadn't shaved in a couple of days.

Quickly, he scrutinized his appearance in the mirror to see how horrible he looked, and decided that whatever hair he had on his face wasn't all that noticeable yet. He figured he could get away with leaving it for another day or so, and taking his bag of books with him, he left his room to go downstairs.

He deposited his book bag by the front door so that he wouldn't forget it on the way out, then turned to head into the kitchen to seek out some coffee. He stopped when he came to the dining area, his sights immediately settling on Wolfram.

His husband seemed remarkably alert considering he generally needed many more hours of sleep than Yuuri did. He was already dressed, looking as neat and presentable as ever, even in Earthen clothes. The day after they'd arrived, Yuuri had been forced out shopping again, this time with his mother and Wolfram while Shori had babysat his young nephew. Miko had thrown outfit after outfit Wolfram's way, adamant that Wolfram should have his own extensive wardrobe, even if they didn't visit Earth as often as they were in the other world.

Today, Wolfram was wearing a pair of fitted jeans, which Yuuri had enough sense to note hugged his backside rather nicely. The sleeves of his white button-up shirt had been rolled up as he fed Merry, with a sleeveless purple sweater-vest pulled over top. He looked like any normal yuppie, and Yuuri marveled over how quickly he'd grown accustomed to Earth, and how easily he fit in.

Wolfram stood in front of the highchair, holding a brightly colored plastic bowl as he fed the baby with a small spoon, singing along to the Christmas music Miko had been playing nonstop for the last few days. Merry sat patiently, opening his mouth every time the spoon came near as he messily ate the mushy cereal Wolfram was feeding him. He was in nothing more than a diaper and a pale blue onesie, with a bib around his neck decorated with tiny rubber ducks.

"Mild he lays his glory by, born that man no more may die; born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth. Hark! the herald angels sing, glory to the new born King."

Merry smiled widely at the sound of Wolfram's singing, leaning forward against the tray of his chair and reaching out with his hands. Yuuri watched as Wolfram smiled back and leaned in to give Merry a kiss, while Merry's hands went to touch his face.

He sighed contentedly at the charming picture, audible enough to have Wolfram turning in his direction. They shared a smile when their eyes met, and Yuuri stepped up to claim a kiss for himself. "Good morning," he greeted him, waking up a little more now that he was in his husband's presence.

"Good morning," Wolfram said in return, then made a face. "You haven't brushed your teeth yet."

Yuuri snorted. "I will once I've had breakfast and drink some coffee." Grinning, he leaned in for another kiss out of spite.

Wolfram frowned at him but allowed it, waiting for him to pull away before feeding Merry another spoonful of cereal. "What time did you come to bed last night? When I woke up this morning, you were snoring. You must have been tired, considering you only snore that loud when you're completely exhausted."

"Not until after midnight," he said, moving around the counter to take the last of the coffee, pouring himself a mug full and adding in the smallest amount of cream and sugar before chugging greedily, glad that it had cooled since it had been made and was no longer scalding hot. "I was busy reading and lost track of time."

"I'm shocked you've grown so studious recently."

"I might not like to read as much as you do, but I _do_ like to know what I'm talking about when things happen." He finished half of his caffeinated beverage in just a couple of swigs, resetting the coffee maker so that he could bring some with him on the car ride to the airport. "Did you want any coffee?" he asked.

"Mama made some for me a little while ago. I'm fine now."

Yuuri was slightly put off by the fact that Miko had made Wolfram's coffee for him while he was stuck making his own. His frowning didn't last long, however, as he was diverted from his indignation when Wolfram began singing again. His voice had gone soft now that he had a witness, but if Yuuri listened hard enough he could hear the words going clearly along with the radio. He had to contain his amusement, not wanting Wolfram to stop, especially when he began bobbing his head from side to side and making cute faces at Merry, who watched intently as he cooed and giggled.

"Sleigh bells ring, are you list'ning? In the lane, snow is glist'ning. A beautiful sight; we're happy tonight! Walkin' in a winter wonderland."

"Exactly how many times has Mom replayed these songs for you to be able to sing along with them so quickly?" he couldn't stop himself from questioning him. Wolfram was wearing one of Anissina's translation devices, so the English wouldn't be hard for him to understand at all, but Yuuri had heard the same songs every winter for his whole life and still didn't know all the words.

Wolfram blushed, quieting down and swiftly looking at Yuuri in embarrassment before focusing on Merry again. "Just a few times. It's really not that difficult. The earpiece helps. If I couldn't understand it I obviously wouldn't be able to sing it as easily. Besides, I like music."

"As much as you like art?"

"Music _is_ art."

Yuuri shrugged, taking a few more sips from his mug before scrounging around for something to eat for breakfast, grumbling about how his mother usually made something for him in the mornings.

"Mama's busy making sure everything's ready for our trip," Wolfram told him, overhearing. "You can fend for yourself for one morning, can't you?"

"Did you have to fend for yourself, too?"

"Of course not. Mama made some waffles for me. They were very good, although the syrup was a little sticky."

"She spoils you," Yuuri started to grumble again, taking out some bread to make a few slices of toast. "Then again, everyone spoils you, so it shouldn't be all that surprising."

Wolfram glared at him for his comment, before the look smoothed out and he smiled sweetly. "You do, too."

"I do, what?"

"Spoil me."

Yuuri paused to contemplate this simple accusation, and eventually conceded that there may be some truth in it. "Well… not all the time. Only when I think you deserve it." Which happened to be frequently in the last couple of months, he was beginning to notice. "It wouldn't hurt if you spoiled me sometimes, you know."

"I think I spoil you plenty. Not very many other people would let you get away with some of the things I've allowed you to get away with," Wolfram said. "But if you're feeling so neglected, I'll massage your back for you when we get to the hotel tonight."

Considering this a fair trade, Yuuri smiled back at him, letting his toast cook and taking the opportunity to walk around to him and grab another kiss. "Have I ever told you you look good in purple?"

Wolfram rolled his eyes at the stolen kiss, but let him get away with it once again. He blinked at Yuuri's comment, scooping the last of the baby cereal onto the spoon and holding it out for Merry to work in his mouth and swallow. "Not that I remember. Why?"

"Because you do. I was a little worried when Mom said she wanted to take you shopping, but she did good. You look cute."

A golden brow arched elegantly. "I wasn't aware that 'cute' was the proffered image for someone my age."

"'Pretty' then. The purple brings out the color of your eyes more."

"I don't see what's so special about them. Plenty of people have green eyes. My mother, for example."

"Can't you just accept the compliment?" he laughed, taking the empty bowl and useless spoon from Wolfram to set both aside and slip his arms around his husband's waist, pulling him a few inches closer. "You're the first person I ever met with green eyes, so I'm allowed to like them."

The pink in Wolfram's white cheeks was also very flattering to his appearance. "Thank you," he responded meekly, ducking his head and shifting his eyes away modestly. "But I like your eyes better."

"Everyone here has dark eyes like mine."

Exasperated, Wolfram lifted his head to look at him again, then parroted back, "You're the first person I ever met with black eyes, so I'm allowed to like them."

Yuuri chuckled and kissed his forehead. "Fair enough."

Merry shifted in his chair, kicking his little legs and slapping his palms against the tray. "Mammm-ma!"

Wolfram sighed and pulled away, turning to Merry with a disgruntled frown. "He's been saying that since we got here. I suppose he could just be calling for your mother, but he only ever does it when I'm around. You don't really think he's talking to me, do you?"

Yuuri shrugged, moving back into the kitchen when his toast popped up. "Yeah, it seems like it to me. His mom had blond hair, too. Maybe he just associates blond hair with 'Mama.' Either way, it's the only word he can say. You can't expect too much from him."

Although, Wolfram expected a lot from everyone, probably because everyone expected a lot from him.

"I'm not 'Mama,'" he said, placing his hands on his hips and speaking to Merry. "Say 'Wolfram.' Woooollll-fraaaaammmm."

Merry simply smiled at him, cooing happily. "Mammm-ma!"

"No, 'Wolfram.'"

"Mammm-ma!"

"You might as well just give up, Wolf," Yuuri said, spreading jam onto his toasted bread before taking a large bite.

"He's only saying it because he knows it bothers me," Wolfram replied. He leaned in close to look at Merry eye to eye. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

As if he understood what was being asked of him, Merry giggled, reaching out to touch his hands to Wolfram's face again.

Predictably, Wolfram's heart instantly melted and he took off Merry's soiled bib so he could remove him from the high chair and take him into his arms. "You're lucky you're so cute," he declared, giving one of his chubby cheeks a kiss. "I'll let you call me that for now, but once you're older and you start speaking more, you have to call my by my name, do you understand?"

"Mammm-ma!"

Huffing, Wolfram washed Merry's face off with a damp washcloth before moving into the living room to find his clothes, which were draped over the back of the couch. Yuuri watched him help Merry into a purple shirt and a pair of overalls, snickering quietly to himself when he thought Shori may have been right about his husband wanting he and the baby to match. He refrained from commenting on it, finding it oddly cute and not wanting to give Wolfram a reason to stop doing it.

Yuuri finished the rest of his toast, washing it down with the remainder of his coffee and pouring himself another cup once the next pot was done. He felt a little more awake, even if he still ached and didn't have his normal amount of energy. He'd at least be able to function long enough to get to the airport and board the plane.

He approached Wolfram while waiting for his second cup to cool, coming up behind him as he slipped little socks onto Merry's feet, sliding his arms around his waist again. Wolfram glanced over his shoulder, curious, but he didn't pull away.

"Can I help you?" he asked, lifting his thin eyebrows and turning in his arms to face him.

Yuuri smiled at him and shook his head. "No, I just wanted to hold you for a little bit."

Wolfram blushed softly, but his lips quirked into a smile as well. "You can do that for however long you want."

"Until you get annoyed with me."

"I won't."

Yuuri laughed. "I don't believe that for a second. You're fine now, but in a little while you'll want your space again." He knew he was right when Wolfram frowned, sticking his lower lip out into a pout. "I know you too well."

"Shut up and kiss me," Wolfram demanded, lifting his chin proudly.

"I thought it bothered you that I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

"That didn't stop you before, so I don't see why it should stop you now."

"You're so hard to please," Yuuri said.

It wasn't true. On the contrary, he'd learned that it was fairly simple to make Wolfram happy once he actually spent time with him and treated him appropriately. All he had to do was say something nice, or pull him against his side, or take hold of his hand, or look at him a certain way and Wolfram would soften almost immediately. If only he'd realized that before, he would have been able to better manage Wolfram's erratic moods, as he was learning to do now.

Teasingly, Yuuri pressed his lips to Wolfram's forehead, smiling at him cheekily when he pulled away.

"Not like that, wimp," Wolfram grumbled, visibly unsatisfied.

His grin widened, but he knew better than to push his luck a second time, so he moved in to kiss him the way he knew he wanted him to, pulling him as close as he could with the baby between them as he pressed their lips together. Wolfram sighed in gratification, responding to the kiss with a little more pressure against his mouth.

Yuuri kept the kisses simple, mindful of the fact that he hadn't brushed his teeth, but also not wanting his parents or his older brother to wander in while they had their tongues down each others' throats. Shori had been commenting on the changes in their relationship since they'd arrive, and Shoma would occasionally give them knowing smiles. Miko seemed oblivious to it, acting as if they'd always been this way, but Yuuri knew that she was well aware of their developing romance.

Kissing Wolfram grew easier every time he did it. He was no longer disgusted by the idea, or even frightened about what it could mean, and it had nothing to do with any curiosity he might still be feeling. He genuinely liked it. It excited him in ways that nothing and no one else did, and had his mind deviating to thoughts he'd never allowed himself to have.

He was beginning to accept the fact that he found Wolfram attractive. He hadn't known what to think when Shori had asked him months ago, but now it was becoming hard to ignore, and his feelings were growing clearer. His need for Wolfram in an emotional capacity was stronger than his need for anyone else, and his physical desires had recently been coming into play as well. Since his failed attempt at masturbation in his tent at the medical station, Yuuri had found himself thinking of Wolfram in less than innocent ways, and his eyes were developing a tendency to wander.

He enjoyed the sound of Wolfram's voice - how light it could be when he was happy and excited, how blaring it sounded when he was angry, and how sultry it would be whenever they flirted. He liked Wolfram's eyes and the long lashes that surrounded them, and the way his full lips moved when he formed his words. He liked his hands, surprisingly soft but for a few calluses, the long, thin, dexterous fingers and elegant wrists. He liked his long neck and thought it a shame that he wore such high collars so often; he liked the shapeliness of his legs and admired them whenever he chose to wear short-pants and stockings.

Most startlingly - and probably most importantly - he liked Wolfram's bum. He made sure to steal a peek whenever Wolfram had his back to him, especially when he bent over for something, and sometimes at night while Wolfram was sleeping he'd find his hand casually brushing against it, rubbing in what he called a comforting motion, as if to excuse his actions.

If Wolfram noticed any of these things, he had yet to comment on them, though Yuuri had taken great pains to hide his interest and act as normally as he could while being a little more affectionate with him. He knew that Wolfram loved him, but he couldn't recall him saying anything about a physical attraction, and until he did - or until Yuuri was able to sense it on his own - he'd keep his thoughts and yearnings as much to himself as he could.

A hand against his face had Yuuri stopping before things could grow too heated. He broke the kiss to look down at Merry, who was looking up at him with something akin to disapproval. "What?"

Merry frowned at him, snuggling against Wolfram's chest, pulling his hand away so that he could cling to him. "Mammm-ma."

"You're not jealous, are you?" Yuuri asked, amused by the idea. Merry had grown quite attached to Wolfram since he'd brought him home, and he didn't know if he was more surprised by how good Wolfram was with him or more relieved that Merry was getting along so well without his real parents.

Merry pouted, clutching tightly to Wolfram's sweater vest. "Mammm-ma."

"I'm not going to take Mama away from you," Yuuri told him, holding back a snicker when Wolfram shot him a glare for referring to him by that term. "I'm your Papa now, you know."

He leaned close to give Merry a kiss the way Wolfram always did, but Merry's hand stopped him, the tiny palm bashing against his nose. Yuuri yelped, stepping back and bringing a hand up to his face while Wolfram howled with laughter.

"It isn't funny," he said, rubbing his sore nose, remembering the last time Merry had done something like that to him when he and his mother had visited Karl. "What have I ever done to you, huh?"

But Merry was smiling and giggling at him now, his blue eyes bright with mischief.

Yuuri sighed audibly, then grabbed one of the pacifiers he'd bought and shoved it into Merry's mouth to prevent him from sucking on his thumb, giving Wolfram's forehead another kiss before stepping away. "Let me go brush my teeth and help Dad load the luggage into the car. Do you have everything you'll need?"

Wolfram nodded. "Mama helped me pack a bag for Merry last night."

"Okay," Yuuri said, turning to head up the stairs. "I'll be done in a few minutes."

He wondered what Wolfram planned on doing while they sat on the plane for fifteen hours, and thought he might like to listen to some music. Making a mental note to grab his MP3 player on the way out, Yuuri climbed the stairs to head to the bathroom, looking forward to their time away. Not only did he plan on doing some more studying and getting some much needed rest, but he hoped to test out the boundaries of his and Wolfram's relationship in the times they had alone.

* * *

The airport was insanely crowded, and Wolfram made sure to stick close to Yuuri as they made their way through the terminal and boarded their flight. It was difficult to wade through so many people, and the numerous conversations confused him as people spoke of things he'd never heard of or didn't understand. He asked no questions - though he would have liked to - keeping Merry securely in his arms as they made their way down the isle to their seats, squeezing passed older men in nice suits and families with their young children.

Earth both fascinated him and frightened him. There were millions of new and exiting things to see and explore, but at the same time he had to deal with the shock of a differing culture and the astounding advances in technology. He was scared by anything unfamiliar until it was sufficiently explained to him, and constantly worried that he might be making it obvious that he did not belong there. The carefully controlled mask he put in place in the hopes that he seemed normal to all these people was slowly slipping.

Thankfully they were sitting toward the front of the plane and didn't have to go far. Yuuri stopped shortly after they entered, turning to him and gently moving him aside to let someone else pass and head farther back. "You and me are right here. Did you want the window seat?"

Wolfram nodded quickly and slipped right in, sitting down to get out of the way and hopefully gain a bit more space than he'd been allotted while meandering through the large crowds, a great majority of which had black hair and eyes.

Yuuri stowed Merry's diaper bag into the compartment above their heads, then sat in the seat next to him. Miko and Shoma had the seats in front of them, and Shori sat across the isle with a man talking so fast into the electronic device he held to his ear that Wolfram could hardly pick out any of the words he was saying.

Merry looked around with large eyes, his pacifier gently moving against his face as he sucked on it. He'd been loud and rambunctious as they'd left the house and driven to the airport, as if he could sense the excitement in the air, but he had quieted down as soon as they were around other people. Wolfram had thought he might be feeling out of place as well, but Merry had been glancing at everything curiously every time he looked at him, intrigued by what he saw and taking it all in, though Wolfram doubted he understood any of it any more than he did.

"Are you okay?" Yuuri asked, concerned by his silence and the overwhelmed expression on his face.

Wolfram nodded again. "Fine. There's just a lot of people is all."

"It's almost Christmas, so everyone's traveling," Yuuri explained. "Why don't you go ahead and put on your seatbelt? You can take it off again once we're up in the air."

"I know. I remember from last time."

Yuuri leaned around him to grab half of his seatbelt, pulling it across him to fasten it to the other half, adjusting it so it wasn't too tight or too lose.

Wolfram blushed but let him help, holding the baby close to comfort himself. "Merry doesn't need a seat?"

"We can just hold him. He'll be fine in our laps," Yuuri said, fastening his own seatbelt next. "Did you want me to take him? You've been carrying him around all morning."

"No, it's alright. I've got him."

Yuuri's concern grew, and Wolfram felt one of his arms slip behind his shoulders. "Hey," Yuuri said, leaning a little closer once more. "Are you sure you're okay? You look a little out of it. There's nothing to worry about. You've been on a plane before. I thought you liked it."

"I did. It's not the plane that's bothering me. I just… feel out of place."

Yuuri looked around at the other passengers before glancing back at him. "You're fine. No one suspects anything, I promise. You look normal enough to me. Just relax, and if you need anything, just tell me."

"Right…"

He looked out the window while the plane continued to fill, glancing over the building they'd just left and watching the vehicles driving out on the tarmac. He let Yuuri keep his arm around his shoulders, drawing comfort from his embrace while he attempted to settle himself, ignoring the conversations around him for a time so that he could focus on calming down.

There wasn't an empty seat on the plane once the passengers were finished boarding and the hatch was sealed. Young women in uniforms walked up and down the isle, making sure they had their luggage stored overhead and their seatbelts in place. One of them stopped after checking on Yuuri and Wolfram to compliment Wolfram on his beautiful baby, and he managed a small smile and a quiet "thank you" in response. Merry simply continued to look around with wide eyes, and Yuuri began explaining the function of the controls on the panel above them, and while Merry seemed to be listening avidly, there was no way a child so young could comprehend it all.

They were greeted by the disembodied voice of the pilot over something Yuuri called an intercom, and the plane began to move and glide down the runway. Wolfram instinctively clutched Merry tighter as they began to rise, watching the ground fall away out the window, the buildings growing smaller as they climbed higher, until he could see little more than sky and clouds.

Yuuri helped him out of his seatbelt once they received the appropriate signal, and Wolfram grew more relaxed as things quieted down. He was able to glance around without feeling as if he was giving himself away, and shifted into a more comfortable position in his seat.

"Did you want anything to drink?" Yuuri asked him.

Wolfram thought about his question for only a second, then nodded.

He waited for his husband to flag down one of the wandering flight attendants, who happily brought the requested beverage, and Wolfram soon had a plastic cup filled with a sweet, bubbly substance he'd previously been told was called 'cola.'

"Give Merry to me," Yuuri told him, and this time he didn't take 'no' for an answer. Wolfram exchanged the baby for the drink, sipping at it experimentally before deciding it tasted rather good. It tingled against his tongue in a delightful way.

He smiled at Yuuri once he'd drank half of it. "Thank you," he said gratefully. He leaned in to kiss his cheek and blinked at the roughness he encountered. "Your cheek feels scratchy," he observed as he pulled away, peering closely at his face.

Holding Merry with one arm, Yuuri raised a hand to his face to run the pads of his fingers over his skin. "Sorry. I didn't shave this morning."

Wolfram blinked again in surprise. "You shave?"

He inwardly cursed himself for the stupid question, feeling that the answer should be obvious. Of course Yuuri would shave; he was growing older, becoming a man - had been for some time now. Naturally he would begin to take part in things that men did to upkeep and maintain themselves.

"Well, yeah," Yuuri replied with a shrug. "Not all that often, though."

"I've never seen you shave before."

With his free hand, Yuuri pushed up on the armrest between them to move it out of the way, then wrapped his arm around him and pulled him to his side while Merry sat contentedly in his lap. "That's because you're usually sleeping when I get up," he teased. "If you'd wake up when I did, you'd have a greater chance of seeing me do it."

"I woke up before you this morning," Wolfram grumbled, though he knew his rising before Yuuri was an extremely rare occurrence. He couldn't deny that he liked to sleep, even if that sleep had become compromised since Merry had arrived.

Yuuri smiled and kissed his temple, and Wolfram made himself comfortable against him, lowering his head onto his shoulder.

"Can I get anything else for you?"

"No, thank you."

"You can take a nap if you want. You've been taking care of Merry so much lately. You must not be getting enough sleep."

"I don't mind taking care of him. You're too busy with work to do much anyway," Wolfram said, finishing the rest of his drink and setting the empty cup down. "And I thought we established that I was the mother," he added with a grumble.

Yuuri laughed, giving him a squeeze and placing a kiss onto his hair. "You can be whatever you want to be, and I'm sure you'll do it well."

Wolfram warmed at the comment, though he still wasn't all that pleased about the baby referring to him by such a feminine term. However, he was happy that Yuuri believed in him and was proud of himself for earning so much of his confidence and trust.

"I love you," he said on a sigh, turning his head to be able to smile up at him while still keeping it on his shoulder.

Yuuri smiled back, his black eyes twinkling. "I know," he replied, his arm tightening around his shoulders.

Feeling more at ease, Wolfram allowed his eyes to slip shut and was not surprised at all when it took him very little time to drift off.

He dreamt of pleasant things. Memories of his wedding day blended together with his many fantasies, so that he saw Yuuri happy and excited to take his hand, and anxious to kiss him in front of their guests, to claim him as his own and present him as his equal. The sun was shining, gleaming off of the strands of Yuuri's dark hair and bathing them both in a golden light that blocked out the crowd of courtiers with its brilliance, so that they were blissfully alone by the fall of water, staring adoringly into each others eyes.

There was a short reception held with only their closest friends and family, and then they were in their bedroom, where he stretched out on the bed and Yuuri slowly undressed him. The air was cold against his pale skin, but Yuuri shielded him and warmed him, and when their chests touched Wolfram noticed that they were both naked. Yuuri's caresses were gentle, as he smiled and whispered sweet things into his ear, and Wolfram gasped at the pleasurable feelings Yuuri's hand elicited below his waistline.

Suddenly, the scene exploded in a flash of blinding light, and Wolfram's dreams were disturbed by the babble of quiet voices somewhere in his reality. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the sunlight that streamed in through the small window. He stretched, looking around blearily as he sat up in his seat, wiping at a bit of drool on his chin embarrassedly.

He looked over at Yuuri after he'd pulled down the window cover to block out the sun, smiling when he saw that his husband had also taken the time to nap. He had his head tilted back and his mouth hanging open as he snored quietly. Merry was curled up against his chest, his cheeks rosy with sleep as his pacifier hung from his parted lips.

Wolfram lifted a hand to Yuuri's face, taking a breath and letting it out with a sigh, staring at Yuuri as adoringly as he had in his dream. He stroked his cheek and brushed at his hair, shifting in his seat and curling his legs up so that he could look at him easier.

Yuuri was startlingly handsome, whatever the wimp might like to think - or at least Wolfram thought so, and that was really all that mattered. He was darker than Wolfram in every way - his skin, his eyes, his hair. Wolfram had always thought him to be physically appealing, if only because he looked so exotic, but as they'd spent more time together, he'd come to appreciate Yuuri's inherent beauty.

His eyes slanted, crinkling the more he smiled, sparkling every time he laughed, and his black brows were thicker and less arching. His nose was long and straight, but was wider at the bottom than it was at the bridge, and the tip of it didn't project as far out as Wolfram's. His cheekbones were high, his mouth was wide, his lips full, and his jaw was strong. He'd lost the young roundness he'd previously had in his face, so that his features were straighter and more narrow, like his brother and his father.

His had a warm, charming smile, and a charismatic aura that made it difficult for Wolfram to resist him. As he matured, so too did Wolfram's longing for him, starting first as a lingering fascination and innocent crush, before growing into an all-consuming devotion and physical need for closeness and affection.

He could spend hours watching Yuuri and never grow bored, and there were times when he would find a new piece of him that he never knew was there. There was the scar on his left elbow from a baseball accident and the one on his right knee from a fall off of his bike; there was the small mole on the back of his right shoulder and another odd shaped marking on one of his feet. He had little white splotches on some of his nails, which were always short and rarely manicured. His hands were rough with calluses from both sword and bat, and often smudged with ink.

Wolfram took one of Yuuri's hands, gently so as not to wake him, and carefully placed his against it, comparing their sizes. His own fingers were longer, and it was only the broadness of his husband's palms that made Yuuri's hands seem to envelop his when they clasped together. Yuuri's fingers were thicker and blunt, while Wolfram's tapered elegantly from knuckle to tip.

Frowning in aversion, Wolfram picked a bit of dirt out from under one of Yuuri's nails. He wished he'd have more of a care for his appearance. He could get by looking scruffy on Earth, but back home it was far more important that he look presentable at all times.

Yuuri stirred a few moments later, his snoring coming to an abrupt halt, and he sat straighter in his chair as his eyes blinked open. He glanced at his surroundings while emitting a wide yawn, and turned to Wolfram once he'd made sure that Merry was still sleeping against his chest.

"Hey," he greeted him, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. "When did you wake up?"

"Not that long ago," Wolfram answered, still holding onto his hand. He lifted it to his mouth to kiss the palm. "How much longer until we get to Boston?"

"Uhh." Awkwardly, Yuuri attempted to keep Merry in his left arm while moving the wrist to be able to check his watch. "At least eleven hours."

"That long?"

"Yup. We're going halfway around the world. It's going to take a while. I just hope we're not delayed by snow."

"What do we do if that happens?"

"It depends on how bad it is. We could stay in the air and try to make the landing a little while later, or we could end up having to stop somewhere else. Shori checked the weather before we left and everything looked fine, but you never know."

"Oh…"

"Why? Feeling restless already?" Yuuri asked, smiling at him with what Wolfram guessed was amusement. "You can watch a movie, you know. And I brought my MP3 player for you if you wanted to listen to some music."

Wolfram shook his head, shifting closer to him so that they were nearly sharing the same seat. "No, I'm fine for now. I was just wondering."

Yuuri placed an arm around him again, and Wolfram settled into his usual place against his side. Curiously, he looked at some of the other passengers. He could see the top of Shoma's head over the seat in front of him, but the only sign that Miko occupied the other seat was the sound of her voice, quieted now to allow other people some peace, but sounding no less excited. Behind them, he could hear the high, sweet voice of another child, asking 'what this' and 'what that' to the amusement of its patient mother.

Across the isle, the man sitting next to Shori had put away his ear device and had a large book with glossy pages sitting in his lap, but he wasn't reading it. Wolfram's heart jolted when his eyes met another pair of black ones, and he quickly looked away before the man could accuse him of staring. Of course, it didn't take him long to realize that it was the other man who was staring at _him_, and he returned his gaze to him with a small frown.

Upon his second peek, Wolfram saw that the man wasn't just looking at him - he was looking at he and Yuuri, his dark eyes moving from one to the other as if waiting for them to do something. His expression was difficult to read, but Wolfram thought he might actually be disgusted, though he had no idea why. For a moment he thought Merry might need his diaper changed, and that the stench had spread across the isle. He didn't know how it was possible for someone so small to smell so much, but the odor of a soiled diaper was powerful. Leaning over Yuuri to sniff at the baby, Wolfram didn't smell anything foul and was again confused by the man's intrusive staring.

"Can I help you?" he finally asked, trying to sound more pleasant and less confrontational, but he didn't like being looked at as if he were doing something wrong and then not being able to figure out what it was.

Though he lifted his head in an annoyingly superior manner, the man at least had the decency to flush. "No. Excuse me," he replied and removed his gaze from the two of them to stare ahead instead.

Both Shori and Yuuri noticed the exchange. Shori did little more than look at the man with disapproval clearly written on his face, before going back to tapping at the many buttons on his portable computer. However, when Yuuri looked to see what the problem was and noticed the distaste in the other man's expression, he stiffened and quickly turned away, looking down to watch Merry more intently than he usually did.

Wolfram was more confused than ever, moving his eyes from the man to his husband. Yuuri's jaw was tense as his mouth clamped shut into a firm line, and the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed. His eyes darkened and the normal gleam faded. He appeared agitated, his hand letting go of Wolfram's to absently pick at the knee of his jeans.

"Yuuri?" he asked, leaning around him to try and get a better look at his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Yuuri answered, but his response came much too quickly.

The smile that Yuuri directed at him was forced, and Wolfram didn't believe it for a second. Thinking hard, he looked from Yuuri to the man across from them and contemplated the small ordeal, wondering what it was about the other passenger that had caused Yuuri to become so uneasy. The man in question maintained his gaze ahead, but occasionally Wolfram would catch him quickly glancing at them when he thought they wouldn't notice.

It took him a while, but eventually he figured out what the problem was on his own. He tried to take Yuuri's hand and give it a comforting squeeze, but Yuuri pulled it away from him before he could lace their fingers together and busied himself with keeping the baby comfortable. Surprised by the sudden recoil, Wolfram was momentarily distressed by Yuuri's withdrawal and considered questioning him about his mood again, but his memories of the past four years provided all the answer he needed.

Yuuri had initially been opposed to their relationship because of the fact that they were both male, a prejudice that had been ingrained in him while he was brought up on Earth. At first, Wolfram had thought Yuuri's parents had been the ones to instill this bigotry into him - he himself had gained many of his own opinions from members of his family - but when he'd finally been able to meet Shoma and Miko, he'd known by their gracious acceptance of him that they were not the cause of Yuuri's revulsion.

It was the opinions of outside parties that affected him, Wolfram could see that now. It was not his parents' disapproval that he feared, but the rejection of his society. Yuuri had probably developed his original stance against male-male couples from his schoolmates, and other people he encountered outside of his home, like the man across from them. Even now he was allowing their opinions to affect him, and the fear of being repulsed was showing itself again.

Wolfram thought the entire thing absolutely ludicrous. He didn't understand the mindset of these Earthlings - mainly because Yuuri had never explained it to him before, but also because it was so completely different from his own. He'd hoped that with the recent development in their relationship, Yuuri would have gotten over his prior prejudices. Now it seemed his fear still lingered; he was letting the reaction of one insignificant person supersede their happiness.

Angered that someone would be so blind as to find his and Yuuri's relationship distasteful, Wolfram grabbed onto Yuuri's hand and pulled it over to him before his husband could take it away from him again. When Yuuri turned an anxious face his way, Wolfram merely stared back at him levelly, and gripped his hand tighter when he could feel it slipping from his grasp.

"I love you," he said forcefully, hoping them man across the isle heard him.

Yuuri flinched but didn't turn his eyes away. "I know," he said and swallowed again.

"That's all that matters," Wolfram told him, refusing to let anything spoil their time together - neither the stress of a long flight, nor some stranger's homophobia. Chances were they'd never see that man again after they landed, but his feelings for Yuuri would last forever.

There was a long pause, in which Wolfram could see the conflict warring in Yuuri's eyes, but eventually he relaxed, and he gripped his hand back with just as much strength.

Yuuri nodded his agreement and assent, recovering slowly as he leaned back into his former position. As if to prove himself, he pulled Wolfram against him again and held on tightly, his hand moving to his shoulder where his fingers pressed in a little harder than necessary. Wolfram went to him willingly, and together they steadfastly ignored any critical passengers for the rest of the flight.

* * *

Scribbling a few more notes onto a sheet of paper, Yuuri turned another page in the book he was perusing through. He paused when he came to the end of the chapter, lifting his arms up to stretch before rubbing at the back of his neck with one of his hands.

They'd arrived in Boston some hours ago unhindered by snow, and had been transported by Shori via rental car to the Four Seasons. Yuuri was sure his parents wouldn't have been able to afford the accommodations on their own and could only assume that Shori and Bob were responsible for the booking and payment of the luxury hotel. He continued to remain aghast over his brother's connections, and occasionally entertained the traitorous thought of what it would be like to switch places with him.

Wolfram had not been as astounded by the marble bathroom and French doors with frosted glass as Yuuri had been, but considering where he'd grown up and the sorts of things he'd had at his disposal, Wolfram's lack of appreciation was understandable. The few things that had impressed Wolfram were the view of the Public Garden and the high definition television, which he'd been sitting in front of since they'd come back from dinner with his brother and parents.

After Wolfram had convinced him to set up the portable crib in the bedroom instead of the sitting area, Merry had been put to bed, and Yuuri and his husband had each sought their separate pursuits. Wolfram had chosen some movies to watch and pass the last few hours, starting with Peter Pan – which had spurred a conversation about the lack of magic on Earth, as Wolfram couldn't understand how humans could create movable art that depicted magic as normal but not have or use magic themselves – and moving on to some movie about talking pets in the wilderness. Wolfram would voice the occasional comment as he watched, his most recent one being "I want a cat like that."

Yuuri had pulled out his books to sit at the desk in the sitting room and return to his studying, and had been going at it for the last few hours. Taking a momentary break, he was reminded of his stiff back and the long hours he'd spent hunched over the previous evening. Looking at the clock, he contemplated reading through another chapter before calling it a night, but a pair of arms slipping around his neck from behind had him reconsidering.

"We should go to bed, darling," Wolfram whispered into his ear, then placed a kiss against it.

Yuuri sighed and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to look at Wolfram with a smile. "It's not that late yet."

"Maybe not to you, but I'm tired. We've been up for more than a day. We were on the plane for fifteen hours, and we haven't slept since we got here. You must be exhausted."

"I can last a little longer."

Wolfram frowned, though it looked more like a pout, which quickly morphed into a sweet smile as he suggested, "I could rub your back for you."

Yuuri took only a few seconds to think it over before shutting his book and standing from the chair. "Lead the way."

Pleased that he'd once again gotten what he wanted, Wolfram took one of his hands and led him into the bedroom, pausing only to grab the remote control and turn off the television. He shut the French doors behind them even though it was only the two of them and Merry in the suite, then dragged Yuuri to the king-sized bed.

"Take your shirt off," he said.

Yuuri did so without question, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. He was tempted to go ahead and shuck his jeans, too, but thought that might be a little much and left them on. He climbed onto the bed, lying out on his stomach and grabbing one of the pillows to rest his head upon. Wolfram came up after him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows before placing his hands against him and beginning to work the tension out of his muscles.

Yuuri flinched at the initial contact, looking over his shoulder with a small smile. "Sorry. Your hands are a little cold."

Ceasing his ministrations, Wolfram looked down at his palms, bringing them to the sides of his face to feel them for himself. He seemed to agree with Yuuri and began to rub them together, using the friction to warm them.

The hands were soon to return, of a much more agreeable temperature this time, and Yuuri allowed himself to relax as they worked over his back. Wolfram was certainly no professional masseuse, but he had Yuuri's stress melting away regardless, and he rather enjoyed the feel of Wolfram's hands against his bare skin. He sank further and further into the mattress with each minute that passed, growing drowsier as his muscles loosened and his body unwound.

After the hands had moved from his shoulders all the way down his back and sides, Wolfram leaned down to kiss his neck a few times. When both hands and lips were gone, Yuuri slowly blinked his eyes open, glancing over his shoulder again before carefully turning over. Wolfram moved to climb off of him, but Yuuri grabbed him before he could, keeping him in place above him, one knee on either side.

"Thank you," he said with another smile, running his hands up and down Wolfram's arms.

"You're welcome," Wolfram responded. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he shut his mouth against it and settled down onto Yuuri's hips, absently tracing lines on his chest with his fingers.

"What is it?" Yuuri asked, bringing his hands to Wolfram's shoulders, wanting him to look at him and not shift his gaze away.

"It's nothing."

"Don't say that. Something's bothering you."

"Nothing's bothering me. I just…" he trailed off. He took a breath to calm himself and think, then locked his eyes with Yuuri's. "I just don't want this to bother you. I mean, does it really matter to you so much what people think here? That man on the plane obviously wasn't very approving, though I don't understand what the big deal is. It's not any of his business, and I don't see any difference between you and me and anyone else."

Yuuri blinked in confusion at the beginning of his rambling, but quickly understood. He winced at the memory of the disgusted looks they had received from the businessman across from them for most of the flight, but he didn't dwell on it too much and his mouth lifted at Wolfram's concern. "Hey, it's okay, Wolf. I'm fine. I'm sorry for freaking out like that. It won't happen again. There's always going to be people who don't like it, and I'm going to have to learn to deal with it."

"But why don't people like it?" Wolfram asked, seeming utterly dumbfounded by the thought of so much hatred for something he saw as entirely normal.

"I guess because they think it's unnatural."

Wolfram frowned and tilted his head to the side. "How is it unnatural?"

"Well…" Yuuri tried to come up with a reason of his own, and was surprised when none of his past complaints came to him. He had to force himself into another mindset to come up with an answer. "Maybe because two men being together doesn't produce offspring."

"So having children is very important to people on Earth?"

"To some people, yeah."

"But not everyone?"

"No, I guess not."

"Is it important to you?"

Yuuri paused again, looking over the expression on Wolfram's face. His husband was trying his hardest to hide it, but there was worry in his eyes, and a bit of fear, too.

"No, Wolf. I have Greta and Merry. I don't need any more than that."

"You don't want your own?"

"My own? Wolf, what is this all of a sudden?" He almost laughed, and would have if the look on Wolfram's face hadn't stopped him. Wolfram was doing his best to pretend as if nothing were wrong, but Yuuri could tell that he was truly bothered by the fact that he himself had had such a horrible reaction to one man's disapproval.

Wolfram's doubts were returning, and Yuuri was quick to negate them. "Greta and Merry are mine. They're ours, whether or not they're our blood. It was all by chance, how Greta met Hube and helped him escape. If she hadn't, she never would have gotten that crest and she wouldn't have been able to get into the castle. We never would have met her. And then Merry… if I hadn't gone to war I wouldn't have met Karl, and none of that would have happened."

"But it's still different than you having your own."

Yuuri shook his head, tightening his grip on Wolfram's shoulders in case he tried to pull away. "No, Wolf. We were meant to have them." He could tell Wolfram wasn't exactly satisfied, and wracked his brain for something else to reassure him. "Did I ever tell you about a dream I had on Earth, that time I came here after the wedding?"

"You mean after you kissed me?" Wolfram asked, sounding a bit stung by the memory.

Yuuri winced but didn't allow himself to be sidetracked by giving more apologies. "Yeah."

"No. You never tell me about any of your dreams."

Smiling against the accusing stare he was receiving, Yuuri continued with his explanation. "Well, I'm telling you now. I had a dream on Earth. I couldn't make out all of it, and my other half tried telling me all this stuff I don't really understand, but there was one part… you were in our room with Greta, and you were holding a baby. It was Merry, Wolf. I know it was."

"You're saying you've suddenly gained the power of premonition?" He didn't look all that impressed. "No one can see the future, Yuuri."

"But I have! I know it sounds crazy, but I have – more than once. You remember the nightmare I had on our wedding night, right?" He waited for Wolfram to nod. "I dreamt of you and Greta. You were attacked. And then look at what happened a few weeks later!"

Wolfram fell into silence. His eyes remained locked with Yuuri's, but they lost focus as his thoughts took over and he zoned out of the present moment.

"I never told you any of this before because I didn't want to worry you. And I was scared. I had no idea what any of it meant. I still don't. But if that isn't proof that Merry is supposed to be with us, I don't know what is."

"You're still uncomfortable about all of this, though. You might think of Greta and Merry as our children, but what about me? What am I to you?" Wolfram shut his eyes and hung his head, shielding his distress and fear of rejection. "You were so upset about that man…"

"I told you, it won't happen again. I just got so used to everything being easy between us that I forgot some people here wouldn't like it. I was surprised. I know I didn't have the best reaction, and I'm sorry, Wolf. I didn't mean for it to hurt you. Maybe I'm still a little afraid; I'm always worried that I'm going to do something wrong and upset you… but I'm not ashamed of this, of you and me. I need you."

Wolfram was silent for a little longer, though he eventually opened his eyes and looked at him again. "I don't understand these people."

Yuuri smiled comfortingly, lifting a hand to brush at Wolfram's hair. "To be honest, I don't understand them all the time either."

"What does it matter if we're both men as long as I love you?"

"It doesn't." He could tell that Wolfram wasn't convinced that he believed what he said. He didn't blame him, but he wanted to take his doubts away. "Do I have to prove it to you?"

"I don't need you to-"

Yuuri cut him off by slipping his hand into his hair and pressing against the back of his head. "Come here."

Wolfram obeyed, lowering himself over him until their lips met. Yuuri kissed him as he would have liked to early that morning, having no reason to keep it chaste now, slipping his tongue out to lightly prod at Wolfram's lips until they parted and granted him access.

Wolfram yielded against him after only a few seconds, nearly going limp. He supported himself enough so that the angle of their kissing didn't grow too uncomfortable, keeping his knees and forearms pressed firmly against the mattress as his chest and hips connected with the body below him. Yuuri held him in place with the hand against his head, alternatively massaging his scalp and stroking his hair. His other hand trailed along his back, touching him through his clothing.

He stopped when he came to the hem of Wolfram's sweater vest, giving it a gentle tug before breaking the kiss and pushing Wolfram back enough to be able to pull the purple garment over his head.

"What are you doing?" Wolfram asked, already breathless and looking at Yuuri in both alarm and excitement.

Yuuri tossed the sweater aside, releasing his hold on his husband to begin working on the buttons of his shirt. "Showing you that I'm serious," he said, his heart throbbing and his breath coming quicker in anticipation.

"I… I know you're serious, Yuuri. You don't hav-"

"So you don't want to?" He stopped undoing buttons to wait for Wolfram's response, unaware that he was holding his breath. They had never talked in depth about how they wanted their relationship to progress, or how quickly they wanted it to happen, so he had little idea of what Wolfram was expecting.

"I… I do…" Wolfram stammered, his cheeks filling with color.

"Are you afraid?"

"No. Not of you. But you-"

"Want this," Yuuri finished for him, returning to the buttons. He finished them and pushed the shirt off of Wolfram's shoulders so that it slid down his arms.

"B-But aren't you… I… I mean, I thought that…"

"Do you want me to stop or not?"

"I… I…"

Yuuri looked into his eyes when it seemed as if that was all he could say. He clearly saw that Wolfram was indecisive, confused by the sudden change in his behavior but already overwhelmed by his own emotions and desires. There wasn't any doubt in Yuuri's mind that he and Wolfram wanted the same thing, but it was obvious to him that Wolfram wasn't as confident about their shared urgings.

"I thought of you when I masturbated," Yuuri blurted out, not even realizing he'd said it until the words hung in the air between them. His face reddened to match Wolfram's, who sat gaping at him in shock.

"W-What…?"

"I said… that I thought of you… when I masturbated," he repeated, slower and quieter this time, gulping down the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "A-At the front… in my tent. I… I didn't get to finish, though. Gunter kinda walked in before I could…"

Wolfram's face suddenly grew unreadable, and Yuuri wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

"I… I mean… it wasn't anything bad! I didn't think anything really… dirty… or whatever. I know that you're proper… and modest… and… all that… I just… thought of you and… and it was good. I mean, until Gunter came in, because that kind of ruined it, but I really did like it when I-"

It was he who was cut off this time, and Wolfram who did the interrupting, swooping down to press their lips together again in a deep, firm kiss. Yuuri took this reassuringly and stopped trying to explain himself, figuring he'd been doing a pretty bad job of it anyway. He returned the kiss, a meshing of lips and tongues and teeth, as his arms circled around his husband and pulled him closer.

Wolfram was hard. Yuuri could feel the arousal through their pants and it surprised him, though he didn't stop on account of something like that. His heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat, but he felt absolutely no fear or discomfort. It was strange feeling someone else's hardness against his own, but it wasn't unwelcome and it sent a jolt through him that had him craving more.

Intuitively, he bucked his hips and Wolfram moaned into his mouth. Yuuri groaned in response, as his senses tingled and came alive. Every sound, every smell, every vision heightened, crashing through him in a wave of sensation. His mind shut down, leaving everything to instinct.

Their kisses grew more ardent, heating to a point beyond either of their control. It was as if a barrier had previously been erected to keep their passions contained and only now did it begin to quake and waver, crumbling more with each touch, each kiss. Yuuri felt everything as if he had never experienced it before – Wolfram's hair tickling his face, Wolfram's breath fanning over his skin, Wolfram's mouth warm and wet and hungry. The higher their fervor climbed, the more zealous Wolfram became, until Yuuri could hardly breathe and had to break away before he grew too overwhelmed.

He looked into Wolfram's eyes, which seemed to have grown darker, his pupils wide and dilated so that only the smallest ring of green iris was visible. His hair was mused from when Yuuri's hand had tangled in it, and his lips were red from their kisses, parted as he took in gulps of air. The shirt that Yuuri had unbuttoned before was still partway on, baring his shoulders but hanging on his arms. His white skin was flushed, darker in his face, but a lighter pink extended down his neck to his shoulders and chest, which heaved in exertion and the effort to control himself.

Yuuri saw no reason to hold back and hoped that Wolfram didn't plan on containing himself for his sake. He tried to make his thoughts known through his gaze, but he wasn't sure if Wolfram understood. More certain now than he'd ever been before of the path his desires were taking, Yuuri surged forward without a second though. His arms around Wolfram, he rolled to the side, thankful now for a wider bed, as he imagined they'd have toppled right off of his mattress at his parents' house. They ended up with Wolfram on his back beneath him, Yuuri kneeling between his legs.

Wolfram gasped and squeaked at the sudden change, and Yuuri couldn't help but laugh at the startled and slightly scandalized expression on his face, leaning down to kiss him again. Wolfram hesitated for only a moment before returning it with eagerness, his hands grasping at Yuuri and pulling him down to him so that they were once again pressed firmly together, chest-to-chest and hip-to-hip.

Even now that their positions had flipped, Yuuri wasn't sure who had more control over the situation. Wolfram gave as good as he got – perhaps more, since he'd been waiting longer, and had always had more emotions pent up inside him. Yuuri was almost overwhelmed by the intensity of it again, and had to hold Wolfram down to stop him from progressing too quickly. Wolfram let out a low whine of frustration when Yuuri took his arms and pinned them down to the mattress, and Yuuri pacified him with soft kisses to his cheeks and forehead.

Their hips moved of their own accord, slow and languid at first, getting used to the feel of the double hardness between them before their pace quickened and became more deliberate. Yuuri could hear his own heartbeat pounding away in his ears as his blood rushed through his veins and centered in the lower half of his body. His jeans felt entirely too tight and restricting, but the friction was more than satisfying, so that Yuuri didn't know if he wanted to stop and undo his pants or keep going.

His palms grew sweaty on Wolfram's forearms, and the short strands of his hair stuck to his temples. His entire body felt oversensitive and overheated, and he panted between the soft moans that escaped him. Wolfram was fairing similarly, his mouth agape to his irregular breathing, his hair dampening with sweat and his eyes clouding over with lust. The sounds that escaped his throat were indescribable, frenzied and provocative, and Yuuri's arousal grew with each one.

He kissed him again, tasting his breath and the saliva on his tongue, moving his hands from his arms to grip his palms, bearing down on him as their pelvises continued to nudge and jostle. Wolfram's plaintive sounds were lost in his mouth, and Yuuri thought that he could never want anything more than this. His world narrowed and centered onto the body beneath him, onto the heat between them and the pleasure in their movements, so that everything else seemed to matter not at all.

Wolfram ripped his mouth away a short while later, tossing his head from side to side as he gasped for air. The movement of his hips became less calculated and more wild, bucking almost uncontrollably. Between his panting and moaning, Yuuri thought he heard Wolfram whispering something to him, but he couldn't make it out clearly enough to determine what he was saying, or if he was just imagining it.

Suddenly, Wolfram's back arched and he cried out. His entire body tensed, his fingers gripping tightly to Yuuri's hands, manicured nails biting into the skin. Yuuri came to an abrupt stop and watched him, in awe of the look of complete euphoria on his flushed face. He could have cried for bliss when Wolfram's passion darkened eyes opened to gaze at him rapturously, happy and complete at the apex of pleasure.

Eventually, Wolfram relaxed and fell limp against the mattress, his breathing still heavy and labored. Yuuri was close to joining him, and would have thrust his hips again if Merry had not wailed in his crib.

He stilled on top of Wolfram, whose eyes had widened at the noise, having forgotten as Yuuri had that the baby was even in the room with them. They both turned their heads in the direction of the crib, waiting for Merry's drowsy whimpers to amplify into shrieks of discomfort. The baby whined softly and shifted in his bed, then grew still and quiet and settled back into sleep.

Yuuri sighed in relief and hung his head to softly laugh over their forgetfulness, before returning his gaze to Wolfram's. His husband gave him a modest smile, flushed from their activity as well as embarrassment, as it had mostly likely been his cry of abandon that had temporarily roused Merry from sleep. Yuuri leaned in to kiss him softly, then trailed his lips over the side of his face.

There was an awkward moment in which Yuuri wasn't sure what to do after that, if he should let Wolfram go to clean up while he took care of himself, or if it would be acceptable for him to keep going and finish as Wolfram had. As a courtesy, he released his grip on Wolfram's hands and began to pull away, but Wolfram lifted his arms to hold him still.

Yuuri looked back at him curiously, watching Wolfram's mouth work as he tried to say something. Yuuri wasted only a second more before capturing his parted lips in another kiss, grinding his pelvis down against him. His movements were harsh and frantic, but Wolfram gave no sign that he was uncomfortable or wanted him to stop. Hands smoothed along his back encouragingly, and Yuuri traced burning kisses from his mouth to his throat.

He came with a muffled groan against the side of Wolfram's neck, as everything went white and his pleasure reached its peak, not caring that he soiled his pants in the process. His muscles tensed, but not in a bad way, his fingers flexing and grasping at the comforter on the bed now that he lacked the firm anchor of Wolfram's hands.

He took in deep gulps of air as he slowly descended to the plane of reality, marveling over the fact that it had taken him so long to attempt something like this. It wasn't very different from doing it himself, only he was able to share the glorious feeling with someone else, someone he wanted and needed, and that made the entire process much, much better.

"Is that… enough proof for you?" he asked, having collapsed down onto Wolfram with his head nestled between his shoulder and neck. His breathing remained erratic, and his heart was slow to calm.

He felt Wolfram's head bob in ascent. "Uh huh," was his short-winded reply, unable to form proper words.

Yuuri chuckled lightly, taking time to let his senses return to normal. When he felt as if he'd recovered enough, he raised himself off of his husband, grimacing at the feel of the mess in his jeans. He looked between them and laughed again, smiling brightly as he shook his head at their impatience.

"You okay?" he wondered, looking down at Wolfram's pink face.

"Uh huh," his husband repeated his last response, though he managed to add a short question of his own. "You?"

Yuuri's grin was easy. "Never been better."

It was the truth. He hadn't known what he'd expected when he'd contemplated sexual activities with Wolfram, but none of his thoughts or fantasies had ever been as good as this. The temptation to try it again, and soon, was already taking hold of him.

He ignored it for the time being, figuring they'd done enough for one night and that they should get some sleep before Merry decided to wake up again. Sighing in satisfaction, Yuuri pulled further away to slide off the bed.

Wolfram stayed lying on his back for a few moments longer, mused as he was, his passionate cravings slaked. His flush had receded so that only his cheeks remained pink, and his arms were still caught in his shirtsleeves. He looked up at Yuuri, then finally pushed himself up into a seated position.

Yuuri continued to smile and lifted a hand to him. "Do you wanna take a shower?"

Green eyes glanced between Yuuri's face and his outstretched hand, looking utterly spent. Sluggishly, Wolfram brought his hand up to place it in Yuuri's, absently nodding his head. "Uh huh," he said.

Yuuri considered it a great accomplishment to have left Wolfram so speechless, and tugged on his hand to help him from the bed so that they could both wash up before getting some sleep – in the hopes that he could have Wolfram at a loss for words again very soon.

**TBC…**


	24. Consommer

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and **sexual content**. Also, this chapter is extra long. It's the longest chapter I have ever written. Yuuri and Wolfram just don't know how to stop talking.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side. But still heavily Yuuri/Wolfram in this chapter.

**Rating:** M.

**A/N:** This chapter is dedicated to fans both old and new, but especially the one who've stuck around since the beginning. I honestly couldn't ask for better readers.

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty-Four - Consommer - To Consummate**

If Yuuri was worried about things being awkward between he and Wolfram the next morning, he needn't have been. Wolfram woke when Merry did, leaving the circle of Yuuri's arms to slide out of bed to grab the baby, change his diaper, and feed him breakfast. Yuuri watched him, lounging comfortably amongst the pillows, sheets, and blankets, too content to move and basking in the glow of the shy smiles Wolfram would occasionally toss his way. He remained in bed when Wolfram left to make Merry's cereal, tiredly dozing until Wolfram and the baby returned.

"Good morning," Wolfram greeted him with another coy look, searching around for a fresh set of Merry's clothes. Merry clung to him as he always did, quiet for once as he rested against him and sucked on his pacifier.

"Morning," Yuuri replied, finally sitting up in bed and raising his arms into a stretch, his back popping loudly, which earned him a reproachful frown. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine. It's more comfortable with a bigger bed. I don't feel so confined. What about you?"

"Good. Better than I have been. No bad dreams."

Wolfram smiled at that, laying Merry out on the mattress once he'd found some clothes for him. "Then it was good that we came to Earth for a while, wasn't it?" He removed Merry's pajamas and changed him into a clean onesie, then guided his limbs into an outfit of white and bright blue. Yuuri grinned to himself and doubted Wolfram would ever be able to read the words 'Seibu Lions' emblazoned on the front of it.

"Yeah," he agreed, and managed to contain his amusement before his husband noticed anything. "So what are we going to do today?"

"Don't ask me. You're the one who lives in this world," Wolfram said, picking Merry back up once he'd finished dressing him. "I think your mother and I are going shopping. We need to find something nicer for Merry to wear to Bob's party tomorrow evening, and your mother said there are a lot of good shops in the area."

Yuuri groaned. "I've had enough shopping to last me the next year."

"You don't have to come then. Merry and I will be fine with your mother."

He almost reconsidered and decided to join them, if only to keep an eye on him and make sure his husband and adopted son didn't get lost, but he figured Wolfram was right. He and Miko got along well, and Miko would never allow anything to happen to Wolfram or Merry while they were exploring the city, no matter how oblivious she seemed about other things.

"I guess I'll be on my own then."

"You'll have more time to read. Or you could spend time with your father. It's been a while since you saw him."

Yuuri thought it was ironic that Wolfram would speak to him about spending time with his father when Wolfram barely ever set foot around his own - whether that revulsion was due to something that had been done to him as a child or Wolfgang's notorious neglect, Yuuri still didn't know, and he was too cautious about ruining their time together to ask. He clamped his mouth shut before he could comment on it, knowing without even having to allude to it that Wolfram would not like to discuss it.

"Maybe I will," he said diplomatically and slid out of bed to grab a kiss before Wolfram could move away. Wolfram looked at him in exasperation, but his smile was hard to miss.

The morning passed quickly. Merry had woken later than usual due to the odd schedule of the day before, which Yuuri was a bit thankful for, since it had allowed he and Wolfram to sleep in a bit after their rather active night. The extra sleep meant Wolfram was in an even better mood, and Yuuri was much more awake and clearheaded than he had been the previous morning.

Yuuri went to the bathroom first, leaving the door ajar in case Wolfram should need anything, but his husband didn't join him until after he'd finished his business and quickly washed his hands. They brushed their teeth in silence, Wolfram balancing Merry against his side with one arm, who spat his pacifier out and began to babble at them nonsensically. Yuuri made faces at him in the mirror and tried to get the baby to laugh, and successfully earned a few giggles in response.

He made a show of retrieving his razor and shaving cream, and was not at all surprised when Wolfram pretended to explore the complimentary hotel soaps and shampoos in order to stay and watch him. As soon as he had the white foam on his face and began dragging his razor through it, Wolfram abandoned his act all together and watched with interest.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Yuuri said after a while, looking at Wolfram through the mirror. He honestly had no idea why Wolfram found his act of shaving to be so fascinating.

"I've never seen you do it before," Wolfram told him, glancing away to retrieve Merry's fallen pacifier, rinsing it off and sliding it back into the baby's mouth before returning to watching Yuuri.

"Yeah, but you do it, too, don't you?"

Wolfram frowned and shifted in place, pretending to readjust his hold on Merry while his eyes slid away from Yuuri's. "No, not yet."

"Really?" Yuuri wondered, pausing to turn and look directly at him. He'd never seen Wolfram shave either, but he'd just thought it was because they usually woke up at different times and often had varying schedules, and he therefore hadn't had the opportunity to witness it.

"Why is that so surprising?"

"I don't know. I just assumed… I mean, I've always thought of you as being older than me since you technically are. I guess, thinking like that, I've forgotten how young you really are."

"If you were a full blooded demon, you wouldn't be that much older," Wolfram pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm older enough," he said, waiving his razor at him before going back to dragging it through the shaving cream.

"I don't think I'm really so young," Wolfram defended himself, lifting his chin with pride.

"To me you are. You're what? Seventeen? If that, even. I mean, look at you. You haven't changed at all since I met you. 'Cept your hair's longer."

It didn't seem as if his comments were serving to maintain Wolfram's good mood. His frown deepened and his brow furrowed. He stopped watching him and focused his attention elsewhere, looking at Merry or rearranging some of the things on the counter, making sure everything was neat and orderly. Yuuri noticed straight away, but couldn't contain his sudden amazement enough to stop himself from saying anything else.

"Married with kids at seventeen. Don't you think that's a little weird?" he asked.

"No," Wolfram said, quickly and forcefully, as he absently played with Merry's blond baby curls.

"Not even a little?"

"No, Yuuri," Wolfram firmly repeated himself. "A lot of people at home are married by the time they're my age. My mother married Gwendal's father as soon as she turned eighty."

Yuuri winced, sensing that Wolfram was becoming agitated and wishing he hadn't been foolish enough to keep pursuing the topic. "Sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It doesn't bother me that you're still young or anything, it's just strange coming from Earth's perspective. People usually wait a lot longer before getting married and starting a family nowadays."

"Would you stop talking like you're so much older than I am?" Wolfram snapped, finally lifting his eyes to him again, though he was glaring now instead of smiling.

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not!" Yuuri insisted, trying to keep his voice from growing too loud. He wasn't angry, but definitely confused. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

"You were surprised that I don't shave yet and then you kept commenting about how young I am, and how it's weird but it doesn't bother you, like you're really any different! Not everyone has the advantage of human blood to help them age quicker!"

"'Advantage?'" Yuuri asked in disbelief. "You think it's an advantage?"

"No, but _you_ seem to!"

"What? I've never said anything like that. You're jumping to conclusions, Wolf. I said before that I always thought of you as being older, didn't I? I mean, you are, technically."

Wolfram said nothing in response but continued to frown at him. With an angered 'hmph,' he turned and flounced out of the bathroom, taking Merry with him.

Yuuri stood where he was, utterly confused and wondering how a morning that had started out with so much shy and innocent affection could wind up leading to an argument. He didn't even understand what they were arguing about, just that somehow Wolfram had grown upset with him because of something he'd thought he'd implied.

He considered going after him straight away and demanding an explanation, but thought Wolfram might need a few moments to collect himself before talking to him again. Sighing, Yuuri turned back to the mirror to finish shaving, rinsing some stray shaving cream off once he was done before patting his face dry with one of the towels. He left his supplies where they were, ambling out into the bedroom to find some clothes to change into, figuring Wolfram had gone out into the living room when he didn't see him around.

After pulling on some underwear, jeans and a shirt, Yuuri cautiously made his way into the outer room, not wanting to push his luck. Wolfram was sitting on the couch with his arms over his chest, glaring at the TV, which he'd turned on, as if it had done him a major wrong. He'd spread out a blanket on the floor for Merry, who rolled from his back to his stomach and then back again, before interesting himself with a few of his toys.

Wolfram didn't look at him when he approached, but Yuuri knew he was aware that he'd entered the room because one corner of his mouth twitched, and his gaze was focused on the dog food commercial far too intently. Bravely, Yuuri moved in front of him, blocking his view of the screen as he sat on the coffee table to face him. Wolfram's expression did not change, though as he could no longer see the television, he settled for glaring at the center of Yuuri's chest, as if by doing so he could burn a hole through his heart.

"I'm sorry, Wolf," he apologized.

Wolfram said nothing.

"I didn't mean whatever it is you thought I was trying to say."

Sneering, Wolfram turned his head to the side so he wouldn't have to look at him at all.

"Please, don't be like that. I said I was sorry. You can't keep berating me for something I already apologized for."

"Berating you would require me to actually speak to you," Wolfram replied without feeling.

"Right. Sorry," he said again, smiling despite himself. "So are you going to tell me what I did wrong?"

Wolfram seemed to think about it for a moment, before facing forward and meeting his eyes with a glower. "Do you think I like that you look older than me now? Do you think I like having to look up at you? Even if I stood on the tips of my toes, I wouldn't be as tall as you. I can't fit into your clothes anymore, I'm not as strong as you are-"

"Are you kidding me?" Yuuri interrupted him with a thoughtless laugh. "You have much better control over your magic than I have over mine."

"It doesn't have anything to do with magic!" Wolfram snapped again. "It has to do with physical strength! Look at your arms!" he told him, directing his attention to them with a wave of his hand.

Yuuri didn't need to look to know that he had more muscle on his body now than Wolfram did. It was a source of pride for him to have grown so much; he'd always wished, perhaps shallowly, that he could look more like a professional athlete and not a short, awkward, scrawny teenager. He'd worked hard for it, waking early every morning to jog and train with Conrad, but he'd been careful never to say anything about it to Wolfram. He knew his husband was sensitive about the oddest things, and that something that didn't seem to bother him one second could send him into a fit of jealousy the very next.

"It helps that I had to spend all that time in my armor," Yuuri said, brushing it off and trying to make it seem like something recent, not something he'd spent four years working toward.

"You know very well that it has nothing to do with your armor," Wolfram continued to rebuke him. "It may have helped if you hadn't already looked like that before you left. Your armor didn't make your shoulders wider, and it certainly didn't make you grow taller."

"I don't understand why it's such a big deal to you. You have to explain it to me better than that, Wolf."

"You're growing and I'm not."

"Only because I'm human and you're not."

"Exactly!" Wolfram flared. "You're human and I'm not! Or I'm demon and you're not! Whichever way you feel like looking at it!"

Yuuri paused to think about what he was saying, trying his hardest to understand him. "So… you're upset that I'm human?"

"Not because you're human! Because you're growing!"

"Because I'm human," he said again, unable to see any difference between the two statements.

"No! What did I just say?"

Wolfram's voice had risen more than it should have, blaring in the hotel room. Merry stopped playing on the floor to look over at them, his face scrunching as his began to fuss, disturbed by the loud noises. Wolfram immediately adopted a guilty expression and contained his anger enough to lower his voice, standing from the couch to move around Yuuri and the coffee table. He bent down to retrieve the baby, shushing him quietly.

Yuuri turned to watch him, frowning in his confusion. He didn't want to grow frustrated by the misunderstanding, but it was hard not to when Wolfram simply grew defensive and resorted to shouting. "I need you to help me understand, Wolf," he said carefully, not wanting to do anything to upset either he or Merry further. "Can you explain it to me? Maybe this is just me being stupid, but I really don't get it."

Wolfram looked just as fussy as Merry; Yuuri silently marveled over how closely they resembled one another when they were upset. They could pass as relatives to anyone who didn't know that Merry was adopted, though he figured being of the same race and sharing a similar shade of hair helped a bit.

His lips drawn into a straight line, Wolfram held Merry to his chest. "We're not equals anymore," he said, focusing his gaze on the ground and standing so that Yuuri was watching his profile. "Of course, I was probably fooling myself into believing that we ever were in the first place."

Yuuri's eyes widened at the remark, and while he would have liked to speak to him face to face, he didn't move from his place on the coffee table. "Why wouldn't we be equals?" he asked, keeping his tone mild and non-confrontational.

"Because you're the King."

"And you're Prince Consort," Yuuri pointed out.

"You still have more power and authority than I do."

"And is that what you want?" Yuuri asked. He was doing his best not to jump to any conclusions since that would only serve to worsen the situation, but he immediately thought back to what Murata and Gwendal had told him about Wolfram and his scheming against the Aristocrats.

He hadn't spoken about it with his husband yet. It was a conversation he'd like to avoid if possible; he wasn't ready to deal with the Aristocrats when they had a war to take care of - two, if he thought of Isidore and Cimaron and separate entities. He didn't like the arrogance they showed him or the threat they posed any more than Wolfram did, but he didn't know what he could do with them without adversely effecting the country, and so he was content to let them remain in power until they gave him further reason not to.

Wolfram had never seemed to be the power hungry sort. Politically, he tended to be conservative, which often clashed with Yuuri's more liberal views; he was not as broad-minded, and had a stricter sense of social order that perplexed Yuuri, but one he was growing more familiar with as he read through his books. Wolfram was also extremely particular in who he placed his trust in, and meticulous in his actions when it came to governing the country, but until recently he'd never shown any desire to seize control.

It was worrisome, when before Wolfram had been content to support the agenda Yuuri wished to push through - albeit reluctantly in some instances. He wanted to trust Wolfram to make the right decisions in his absence, and he wanted to be able to depend on him to advance his own ideals when he couldn't do so himself, but if Wolfram was beginning to develop such extreme tendencies, he feared the direction he might take their country if he were not there to stop him.

"No," Wolfram answered him, shaking his head, and his denial eased Yuuri's worries somewhat. "I don't want to rule. I never have. But… I feel like you look at me now, and you think of me as being below you."

"Wolfram, that isn't true," he insisted, immediately standing to address the issue. "I've never thought that. Ever. Don't you remember what it was like for me when I first came here?" he asked, then shook his head to correct himself. "I mean the other world. Home."

"I remember that your decisions were final and no one could talk you out of them."

"But I didn't even want to become king," he reminded him. "The only reason I agreed was because I didn't like how you and Gwendal were-" He stopped himself and shut his mouth on the rest of the sentence, realizing it hadn't sounded quite the way he'd intended it to.

"Gwendal and I were what?" Wolfram asked, lifting his gaze to pin him with another accusing stare.

"I meant to say… I wanted to change things… for the better."

"Because you place your ideals above our own."

"No! I see the value in what you people believe! I just don't agree with it!"

"'You people'" Wolfram scoffed. "You're one of us, too."

"I meant the nobility, okay? I understand that you and the rest of the upper class see things a certain way." He groaned when nothing he said seemed to be making any difference, lifting his hands to scrub his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Why can't I say anything right?"

Wolfram didn't answer, but he returned to the couch, sitting down with a heavy sigh and holding Merry in his lap.

"Look," Yuuri tried again, "forgetting everyone else, what I was trying to say before is that I never thought I was better than you. I always felt inferior to you when we first met. I mean, you're beautiful and smart, talented… you were already a decorated soldier, and I was just… normal. What was I good at? I wasn't attractive, I wasn't all that bright, I couldn't commit to anything without feeling that I wasn't good enough…"

"What about now?" Wolfram wondered, avoiding his eyes again.

"Now I'm trying to be better," he said. "I'm trying to be the sort of king you want me to be. I went to war, Wolfram, and I'm doing all this studying because I want to be good and just and… I don't want to be remembered as some stupid kid who had to let other people take care of things because he had no idea what he was doing. I want to be able to prove myself. I want people to look at me and see more than just some clueless idiot. I want you and Gwendal to respect me."

Wolfram glanced up at him with a look of surprise. "I do!" he exclaimed emphatically. "What makes you think I don't respect you?"

"I don't know!" Yuuri replied, growing flustered despite his best efforts. "Damn it, why is this so difficult? I'm trying to explain myself, but nothing's coming out the way I want it to." He dragged a hand down his face in his agitation, lowering himself back onto the coffee table. "I don't want you to think you're not my equal," he said, getting back to the original cause of this conversation.

"How am I?" his husband asked him, rubbing at Merry's back to keep him calm. "You're taller, stronger. You could easily overpower me now, and what can I do about it? You give me an order and I have to obey."

"I don't like giving you orders, Wolf. I just… I'm trying to protect you."

"You look at me, and you see a child," Wolfram added quietly.

Yuuri glanced at him in confusion, having no idea where that comment had come from, or how it even fit into the situation. "When did I ever-"

"Just now, in the bathroom!" Wolfram insisted. "You were so shocked when you suddenly realized that I'm young! Not that you're much older! Nineteen isn't exactly what I'd call mature, but your physical appearance is older than mine and that seems to please you."

"Okay, you know what," Yuuri began, scrubbing at his face again. "I _do_ like that I'm older now," he admitted. "I like that I'm taller, I like that I look half-way decent, I like that I can actually win in a fight against you and not think it was just a fluke. Okay? You obviously wanted me to admit it, so there it is! I like that, for once in my life, I'm better than you at something, even if it's just that I'm physically stronger."

"Thank you for being honest," Wolfram said, but it was bitter and sarcastic and he didn't sound happy at all.

"We're still equals, Wolfram!" he persisted, wishing he'd dropped the entire conversation and let Wolfram work himself out of his pissy mood. "It doesn't matter who's taller, or who can beat the other in a fight, or whatever! It's how we see one another, how we think of one another, and I've never once thought I was better than you! You think I want you bowing to me or kneeling and kissing my feet?"

Wolfram didn't answer, but turned to look off to the side with an indignant sniff.

"But of course you're going to believe whatever you want, just like you always do," Yuuri observed, deflating when his attempts to sort things out fell flat in his face. "Why did this have to happen now?" he wondered aloud, lifting a hand to massage his temples. "This isn't how I wanted to spend the morning."

"How did you want to spend it?" Wolfram asked, turning back to him, a bit of curiosity bleeding into his anger.

"I don't know. Not like this. I don't like arguing with you, Wolf, but sometimes you make it so hard…"

"You don't make it any easier."

"I know, okay? You like to jump to conclusions and I like to stick my foot in my mouth. We're both guilty."

Wolfram frowned at the comment but didn't deny it.

"Can we just forget it?" Yuuri asked, petitioning him with a sad, hopeful expression.

He didn't receive a response right away. Wolfram seemed to be contemplating the merits of continuing their discussion versus dropping it altogether or leaving it for another time. Finally, he lifted his chin in an all too familiar show of feigned superiority. "Kiss me and I might forgive you."

Yuuri blinked, then smiled at the response, shaking his head lightly before standing from the coffee table to lean over him and press their lips together in a light kiss. "Like that?" he asked when he pulled away.

Wolfram snorted. "That was pathetic."

"You told me to kiss you and I did. It's not my fault you're not very specific."

"I want you to kiss me like…" he trailed off, and despite the haughty expression he was wearing, his cheeks flushed lightly.

"Like what?" Yuuri innocently prodded, grinning in amusement.

"Like you did last night," he finished quickly.

"I don't think I remember," Yuuri teased. "You'll have to be more descriptive than that."

Wolfram frowned at him, and Yuuri momentarily feared he'd screwed up and ruined their chance for a peaceful morning again, but soon Wolfram shifted Merry into one arm and grabbed Yuuri by the back of the head, pulling him down for a deep, earnest kiss, brushing his tongue along his lips before exploring the inside when Yuuri opened his mouth to him. It was a bit sloppy, but Yuuri couldn't complain; he wouldn't mind the extra practice.

Of course, Merry started to whine before things could progress too far, dissatisfied with the lack of attention being shown to him. Yuuri broke the contact to look down at him, shaking his head at the demanding look the baby was giving him. "You're so much like Wolfram, it's scary," he said.

Merry's blight blue eyes narrowed and he made a noise around his pacifier, looking as if he would have started grumbling if he could actually form words.

"I'm not sure I should take that as a compliment," Wolfram responded, mirroring Merry's scowl.

"Both of our kids are like you," he pointed out. "Greta's a violent sleeper and Merry's loud and demanding." He lowered a hand to ruffle some of the baby's thin curls. "Just wait until you go to sleep," he told him.

Wolfram blushed and cleared his throat. "Don't you think you're being a little hopeful?"

"Am I?" Yuuri wondered, moving to sit beside him.

Wolfram said nothing in response, returning his attention to the program playing on the television, but Yuuri couldn't help thinking that he looked a bit hopeful himself.

* * *

By early afternoon, Miko managed to pull Wolfram out of the warmth of their hotel room and the enthralling pictures that flashed across the TV to go shopping for more clothes for Merry. Yuuri was sad to see him go, even if he wouldn't be gone for very long, and resigned himself to return to his studies. After making sure Wolfram and Merry were both bundled in the appropriate winter gear, and Merry was comfortable in his stroller, Yuuri watched them head down the sidewalk with his mother and disappear into the crowds.

He felt lonely almost immediately. The last few weeks since his return from the front had been spent primarily in Wolfram's presence, with the baby's babbling serving as charming - if not disruptive - background noise. It was disheartening to be on his own, and for a moment he wished he'd gone with them, but he silently chided himself for his needy behavior and sat down to get back to his books. If he distracted himself, time would surely pass quicker, and he and Wolfram could spend the rest of the day doing more enticing things than reading or looking through racks of baby clothes.

He managed to keep his mind off of his husband for about tens minutes - which he thought was a great accomplishment - before he shut his book on the War of the Roses and shoved it aside. He groaned in irritation, rubbing at his head as if that could cure him of his inability to concentrate, before slumping in his chair and looking out the window at the sky gray with clouds.

When another five minutes crawled by with no improvement, Yuuri rose from his chair, put on some shoes, and grabbed his coat on the way outside. He left the hotel and crossed the street, then began to wander aimlessly around the Public Garden.

Boston in mid-December was alive with people seeing to last-minute Christmas shopping, walking together in groups of two or three as they laughed and exchanged news, or talking on their cell phones while struggling with heavy bags. It was much like the cities in Japan; the streets were congested, the air smelled of pollution, and the area was alive with millions of people, walking from one place to another, driving through heavy traffic, or descending to the platforms of the underground trains. He saw a couple of businessmen walk into a nearby restaurant on their lunch break, some teenagers fooling around and making their own fun, and a mother pulling her young, willful children along as they whined moodily.

This was normal; this was how life should be. The only wars these people heard of were in the past or fought thousands of miles away; the only adversity many of them knew were petty squabbles with family and friends. On Earth, it was easy to forget the sins he'd committed at the front. That was in another life, where fifteen year old boys could find a passage to a different world in a public restroom, and baseball playing teens could claim the throne of a medieval kingdom.

Here, no one knew who he really was, or what sorts of things he'd done. Anyone looking at him would see him as just another normal person. Maybe he was a tourist, visiting from the east with friends or family, or even on his own, exploring the history of a city that had sparked a revolution. Maybe he was a college student, attending one of Boston's many prestigious universities, studying law or medicine, on his way to rendezvous with friends at their local hangout.

Yuuri's breath showed white in the cold air. He walked for quite some time, shoving his hands deep into his pockets for warmth. A few flakes of snow fell from the bleak sky, and a frigid wind whipped at his short hair. He passed a few cyclists, and bronze statues of a mother duck followed by all her little ducklings, before circling around to make his way back in the direction of the hotel.

He stopped at a bench, not ready to go back yet but not wanting to continue walking either. From here he'd be able to spy Wolfram and his mother as they returned after finishing their shopping. He sat down and tilted his head to gaze up at the sky, letting the flecks of snow fall into his face so that his nose went numb and his cheeks grew red from the cold.

It was there, on an empty bench in the middle of the Public Garden, in a foreign city a world away from his rightful home, that Yuuri found some semblance of peace. His head cleared, and the heavy weight that had settled onto his shoulders lifted; his heart grew light, and his stress and sorrow melted away. He was a normal man in a normal world, and he closed his eyes to relish the feeling, taking the time to enjoy the beauty of his ordinary existence before slowly returning to himself.

He was disturbed from his solitude when he sensed a presence taking a seat beside him, and he opened his eyes and straightened to see his father smiling at him. He smiled back, grateful for the company, even if it meant the blissful forgetfulness was gone.

"What are you doing out here?" Shoma asked him, searching around for something in the pockets of his coat.

"Thinking," Yuuri replied, shifting into a more comfortable position. "What are _you_ doing out here?"

"Can't smoke inside," he said, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "And your mother wanted me to talk to you," he revealed, sliding a cigarette out of the pack before returning the box to his pocket. He set it between his lips, then lit the end of it after flicking the lighter aflame.

"About what?" Yuuri asked, though it wasn't uncommon for his mother to prompt his father to talk to either of their sons.

"She seems to think you have a lot on your mind, but she's worried that you wouldn't want to talk to her about it if she asked you."

Yuuri's smile turned ironic. "There's not much to talk about, really. Everything's pretty much the same as it's always been."

"Except for the war?"

He let out a short laugh. "Except for the war," he agreed, inhaling deeply to let out a sigh. He could smell the smoke from his father's cigarette, but it didn't bother him. When he and Shori had been young, their mother hadn't allowed their father to partake in his habit in front of them. Now that they were older, the rules had become a little more lax.

"Are you okay?" Shoma questioned him.

"I guess. It's not what I wanted, but there really wasn't any way around it. We just… have to get through it. I just wish there was more I could do."

"About the war?"

"About everything. I've learned a lot since I've been in the other world, but I don't think it's enough. I still feel lost…"

His father paused, exhaling smoke into the air, staring ahead and considering the problem at hand. "Maybe we shouldn't have taken you kids back to Japan. We could have lived here, taken you to some Renaissance festivals…"

Yuuri laughed again but shook his head at the idea, amusing as it was. "I don't think that would have helped much."

"No?"

"Nope. I wouldn't be king material either way," he said, sliding down into a slouch and watching a small child play with a ball a few yards away.

He could feel his father's eyes on him, watching him closely. "Your mother and I raised you the best we could. We could only prepare you for so much, seeing as we'd never been there ourselves," he told him, sounding a bit regretful. "Maybe we should have told you from the beginning. It probably didn't help that it was such a surprise."

"It wasn't so bad," Yuuri replied, shrugging. "Some fencing lessons would have been nice, though."

It was his father's turn to laugh. "Your mother tried when you were younger, but all you wanted to do was play baseball."

"Little did I know at the time…"

They drifted into silence for a while, his father finishing his cigarette while Yuuri lost himself in memories of his youth. He wouldn't have wanted to spend his childhood in any other way, and even though finding himself to be the king of a country in another world had been surprising, he didn't think he would have wanted to know before. At least he'd had fifteen years of a normal life.

"So you and Wolfram seem to be getting along well now," Shoma observed after he cleared his throat.

Yuuri laughed again, glancing over at him with a sympathetic smile. "Did Mom tell you to talk to me about that, too?"

"How did you guess?"

"It doesn't seem like something you'd bring up on your own."

Frowning, Shoma considered him gravely. "I never did talk to you much about relationships while you were growing up."

"Trust me, it's okay," Yuuri said. "I didn't have any relationships anyway, and I found out what I needed to know just fine on my own. The internet kinda makes it hard to stay innocent, and Shori's dating sims did a lot of explaining."

"That's something you should be hearing about from your parents, not the internet and video games."

"Somehow I don't think that conversation would have gone over well. I was as awkward as you can get when I was fifteen."

Shoma hummed in agreement, leaning more comfortably against the bench. "We could talk about it now," he suggested, sounding entirely serious.

Yuuri looked at him warily, wondering if that was really such a good idea, and if it were even possible for he and his father to have such a private conversation, before tilting his head back to look up at the sky again. "When I was little, did you ever think that I would end up with another guy?"

"No, but your mother and I don't think of you any differently for it. Wolfram is…" he paused to search for the right word. "Brash and assertive," he settled on an appropriate description, "and not exactly the modest wife I'd imagined you'd have, but he keeps you on your toes."

"You can say that again."

"If I asked you how far you've taken your relationship, would you tell me?"

Yuuri felt his cold cheeks fill with warm color. "Uhh, well… we haven't really done all that much. Just… kissed… and stuff."

"And stuff?"

"Touching and things like that," he clarified, fidgeting uncomfortably. "But we haven't gone all the way or whatever. We're just… messing around."

"I see…"

Yuuri waited for his father to say something else, and when he didn't, he turned his head to look at him. "I didn't just scar you for life, did I?"

His father chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "No, I was scared for life when I found out your brother'd had sex when he was sixteen."

"Wait, what?" Yuuri gaped, sitting up straight again and feeling as if he'd been left out of something important. "Shori's never told me he's had sex!" With a groan he slumped back down, rubbing his face with is hands. "I feel so uncool," he muttered, cursing his slow development.

"You were just waiting for the right person."

"Or I was just too lame to make a move on anyone."

"So Wolfram's the one putting the moves on you?"

"What? No!" he said, a bit too quickly. "I mean… it's more like we're putting the moves on each other… mutually. Maybe. I don't know, I've never done this before. I'm just… going with what feels right, I guess."

"When did it all start?"

Yuuri thought back, but couldn't really pinpoint an exact moment when he'd become completely confident in his interest. "After the wedding. That was the first time we ever kissed. Then I kissed him again later, but I chickened out and came here. And then I went back and… I don't know. Things were different. Now we kiss all the time and…"

"And?"

"Do things," he finished, feeling only slightly uncomfortable while admitting it.

"But you haven't had sex yet?" Shoma asked for clarification.

"Not yet."

"Good."

"Why?" Yuuri curiously asked. "Do you not want me to?"

"I want you to take your time," his father replied. "You don't have to rush into it. In fact, you shouldn't. Not your first time. Make sure you're ready."

"That's what we're doing," Yuuri reassured him. "Or at least that's what _I'm_ doing. I don't want to chicken out again, or make Wolfram feel like I'm pressuring him into it. I'd like it to be special," he added, flushing a second time. "I mean, it shouldn't just be whatever."

"Is this Wolfram's first time, too?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, frowning as he did so. "I think it is. I hope it is. But if it isn't, then… well, that's okay, too, I guess. Except I might feel like he's comparing me to someone else, and then I'd feel even more uncool, especially if I'm not as good." He stopped himself before he could ramble further, forcing himself to get back on track. "Sometimes he seems like he knows what he's doing, but then other times he seems as new to it as I am, so… I don't know."

"Talk to him about it," Shoma prodded. "Conversation is the key to every relationship, or so you mother has been known to say."

Yuuri snorted at that. "I don't think Wolfram and I are very good at conversation. This morning we got into an argument because he got mad at something he thought I said, which wasn't what I was saying at all, but try to tell him that and he gets snappy and defensive and moody as hell."

His father chuckled again, amused. "Sometimes it's best to say 'yes, dear' and move on," he advised. "I learned that with your mother very early on."

"Sometimes I think Mom and Wolfram are a lot alike."

Shoma thought his statement over for a moment, then nodded slowly. "They both have rather strong, forceful personalities, though Wolfram's more grounded while your mother's lost in the clouds."

Yuuri tried to imagine Wolfram being as oblivious and flighty as his mother, and decided he much preferred him the way he was now. He often felt as if he had his hands full with Wolfram's temper, but when he managed to do things right, when Wolfram was calm and happy, he didn't think their relationship was going half bad. They had a lot to work through together before it would come close to being perfect, but they were slowly getting there.

"I should take him out somewhere," he thought aloud.

Between seeing to the war and taking care of paperwork, there hadn't been much time for he and Wolfram to be together outside of the office, and when they did have a few moments alone, it was usually in their bedroom, right before bed or when they awoke in the morning. So far, most of the progression in their relationship had taken place in that very room, save for the wedding and its associated ceremonies. They'd never done any of the normal activities typically conducted in the building of a relationship - they'd never exchanged gifts, and they'd yet to go on a single date.

It felt a bit odd, to be going about things so out of order. When they should have been deciding if they liked one another upon their first meeting, they'd become engaged instead; when they should have been dating and exploring the limits of their relationship, they'd been forced to get married. They hadn't yet fully consummated their marriage, but they already had two children at the young ages of nineteen and seventeen - saying that Wolfram was eighty-six, however true it was, made it too easy to forget that he was still just a teenager, too.

"What do you think we should do?" Yuuri asked, escaping the depth of his thoughts long enough to seek his father's advice. "Go to a movie or something? There aren't any amusement parks around here, are there?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Shoma replied, curiously watching him. "Just take him out to dinner."

"I wouldn't know where to go."

"Ask your brother. There are plenty of good restaurants around here. I'm sure he knows some of them. He could probably even get you into one of the nicer ones at such late notice. He and Bob have really good connections."

"Yeah, I noticed." He doubted Shori would have gotten his new car or been able to book them at a luxury hotel without knowing the right people.

Sighing, Yuuri tried to think of something he and Wolfram could do that they would both enjoy, but his mind continued to come up blank. He didn't expect to be good at the whole dating thing anyway, seeing as he'd never had to worry about such things before. He could only hope his older brother wouldn't be against granting him his assistance.

His father moved beside him, digging into his pockets again for his pack of cigarettes. He took another one out, setting it between his lips and pausing before lighting to hold the pack out toward Yuuri.

Yuuri blinked at him, looking from the pack in his outstretched hand, then into his eyes, both shocked and confused by the sudden gesture. "What?" he questioned him in his astonishment.

"Do you want one?" his father asked, holding it out further.

Yuuri looked between Shoma and the cigarettes again, unable to decide if his father was being serious or if this was supposed to be some sort of test. "I should say 'no,'" he said, having heard the 'smoking is bad' speech more times than he could count, though he knew plenty of people who did it anyway.

Shoma shrugged again. "It's your choice. You're a man now. You have the right to choose whether you want to or not," he said simply.

Yuuri gazed at him in wonder, a bit surprised by the remark. There were many times when he still felt like a child, no matter which world he was in. Gwendal spoke to him as if he hadn't changed at all since he was fifteen, and there were instances when he thought his parents and his older brother still saw him as a little boy - Shori especially. It was a bit demeaning, but there wasn't much he could do to change it except continue to try to prove that he'd matured, that he could be depended upon to make important decisions and know through his experiences that they were right.

He felt a sense of pride at his father's offer, not because of any childish impulse to try something other people considered bad, but because his father was treating him as an adult, letting him try adult things. In a way, it was empowering to be able to make his own choices - even for something as small as this - instead of having someone else make the decision for him.

Yuuri stared for only a few moments longer before making that decision. His first impulse was to say 'no,' since he thought that would be the safe, responsible thing to do. He quickly reconsidered, remembering the battles he'd fought at home, and the consequences he'd run into because of them. If he could put himself in that sort of situation, he thought, then there was no reason he shouldn't at least try this. This was nothing compared to the blood and death he'd seen, the violence that had come to fill his every day.

He shrugged back at his father, reaching out to slide a cigarette out of the half empty pack. "Sure, why not?" he said, feeling his heart give a mad thump in his chest at his answer. He'd always tried to do what was expected of him - by his parents, by his friends, by society as a whole - and he didn't think this was one of those expectations. He certainly hadn't considered it before now; then again, he was already defying the norm by being with Wolfram, and he didn't think this was as much of a big deal when compared to that.

He let Shoma light it for him instead of doing it himself. His first intake if smoke induced a fit of coughing, which earned him a laugh from his father and a hearty pat on his back. His second attempt was a little better, and he saw even more improvement with his third. He felt strangely exhilarated in his success, and smiled at Shoma, who was watching him as carefully as he used to when he'd practiced baseball.

"Just don't tell your mother," his father told him, putting his pack away once they'd both settled into their cigarettes.

Yuuri laughed lightly and shook his head. "Don't worry, I won't," he said.

He much preferred his father's acceptance to his mother's disappointment.

* * *

Wolfram spared a few cautious looks out of the corner of his eye, wondering if it was appropriate for him to be feeling unsettled or if he was merely being paranoid. Yuuri walked beside him as they stepped through the slush that covered the sidewalk. In the absence of the sun, the city was lit by lanterns strung up on tall posts, and bright, colored signs that hung in store windows. The artificial illumination blotted out most of the stars, so that when he looked passed the high buildings he could see nothing but darkness.

The night air was cold against his face, but he remained relatively warm, dressed in a heavy winter coat, with gloves protecting his hands and a hat insulating the crown of his head. A few tiny flakes fluttered around them, but for the most part the evening had been surprisingly clear. Since that morning, the sky had looked as if it were going to barrage the city with heavy snows, but aside from a few flurries and small showers, the weather had held up to allow their sunset excursion.

Wolfram had spent a majority of the afternoon with Miko, who'd helped him find something for Merry to wear to the Christmas Gala before treating him to ice-cream. Many of those hours had been passed listening to his mother-in-law talk about whatever happened to enter her mind at any given second, but it had been more relaxing than any of his recent days back home. Aside from a few periods in which Merry had grown fussy, there hadn't been any problems during their short trip, and they'd returned to the hotel after completing their task with time to spare before dinner.

It was then that Wolfram had been met with his surprise, as Yuuri greeted him at the door with instructions for him to quickly wash up, then leave Merry in the capable hands of his older brother, before ushering him back out and leading him through the city. They'd gone to some place whose name he couldn't remember, but whose food he'd devoured with enthusiasm until his stomach was fit to burst. Anissina's translation device had been taken from him so that Yuuri could wear it and speak to the staff, taking the lead during their evening together with more confidence than Wolfram had grown to expect from him.

Now they were on their way back to the hotel, and Wolfram didn't know what to do. Conversation had been easy over the dinner table; the calm, intimate atmosphere had only been broken when a soft-spoken young man in uniform had come over to see how they were fairing. He couldn't recall everything that they'd talked about, or even if it had been important, but the experience had been one that Wolfram would like to repeat, and he hoped Yuuri felt the same way.

Of course, now that their outing was winding to a close, he was running out of things to say. Yuuri's silence wasn't helping matters at all; he hadn't known what his husband was thinking all evening, mainly because Yuuri had refused to tell him anything about what he had planned. Wolfram was anxious to know if there was anything else he had in store for him, or if they were simply going to return to their family and their parental responsibilities.

He continued to eye Yuuri as discretely as possible, examining the expression on what parts of his face he could see from beside him, but he looked peaceful and content and didn't seem to be thinking of much of anything at the moment. He turned to meet Wolfram's gaze when he noticed him looking at him, his lips curved up into a soft smile, his dark eyes warm and lit by the glow of the streetlamps they passed beneath.

"What?" Yuuri asked, speaking to him in their own language instead of any of the number of strange tongues spoken on Earth.

Wolfram shook his head, glancing away to examine the slush beneath his feet. "Nothing," he said, which was truthful enough.

"Is something wrong?" Yuuri pressed on, growing slightly concerned.

"No," Wolfram was quick to deny, shaking his head more emphatically before attempting to explain himself. "I was just… thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing really."

Yuuri chuckled, lightly nudging his shoulder. "How can you be thinking if you're not thinking about anything?"

Wolfram shyly returned his smile, moving closer to nudge him back. "Quiet."

Yuuri grinned at his close proximity and grabbed him, keeping him against his side with an arm around his shoulders. "Yes, sir."

Wolfram had intended to release an exasperated sigh, but it came out sounding more wistful than anything else. He looked up at Yuuri as they continued to walk, having no idea where exactly in the city they were, but trusting his husband to be able to get them back to the hotel all the same.

He soon found himself staring again, though he hadn't meant to. He didn't notice he was doing so until Yuuri gave him another look, his cheeks flushing when he was caught.

"What?" Yuuri asked again.

"Nothing," he gave the same reply, copying his move from just before and glancing at the ground.

"There isn't anything bothering you, is there?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You keep staring at me," Yuuri pointed out.

"Am I not allowed to stare?" Wolfram wondered, feeling his face grow even warmer against the cold.

He felt Yuuri's shrug more than he saw it, focused on the ground as he was. "I can't tell if you're staring because there's something wrong, like I have something on my face, or because you just want to."

"Because I want to," Wolfram lowered his voice to admit.

Yuuri paused for a moment, then responded to the comment. "There's really not that much to look at."

"That's what you think," Wolfram said, frowning ever so lightly. "You're too hard on yourself sometimes."

"I don't think I am."

"How can you be so confident but still have such a low opinion of yourself?"

"Who said that?" Yuuri asked, curious. "You think I have a low opinion of myself?"

"It seems so sometimes."

"You're not much different. You're always worried about people thinking badly of you, and you always have to look perfect because if you don't you're afraid someone's going to judge you for it. If you had as high of an opinion of yourself as you try to make people believe, you wouldn't be so worried about things like that all the time."

Wolfram's frown grew deeper, not because he was insulted by the assertion, but because Yuuri was completely right. "Well…" he tried, but couldn't think of anything else to say. "Whatever."

Yuuri laughed at him good-naturedly, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "You shouldn't worry so much, you know. About what other people think."

"This from the man who freaked out on the plane because a stranger was looking at him funny."

It was Yuuri's turn to frown. "That was different."

"Was it?" Wolfram wondered, meeting his look with an expression of disbelief.

"Yes, and it won't happen again, so forget it, okay?"

Wolfram nudged him again, smiling in amusement at the disgruntled look on his face. He let him guide him with his arm around him for a little while longer, then disentangled himself from Yuuri's embrace and took Yuuri's hand into his.

"Thank you for dinner tonight," he said, lacing their fingers together.

"You're welcome, I guess," Yuuri replied, some of his usual awkwardness working its way into his voice. "You can thank Shori when we get back. He paid for it."

"It's the thought that counts, and it was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, sorta. I was talking to my dad when you and Mom went out and I just thought… well, we've never been on a date before." Yuuri's face was pink beneath the lamplight, and Wolfram doubted all of it was from the cold.

"Date?" he asked, blinking lightly in confusion.

"A date. It's like… going out and doing things together. Without anyone else. Actually, some people go out on group dates, but I just wanted to be with you, so…" Yuuri paused as if he realized he'd begun to ramble, shaking his head to get himself back on track. "It's like courting. It's what people do when they want to be together. It can be fun, or romantic…"

"And what was tonight?" Wolfram wondered. He thought it had been rather romantic himself, but seeing as they'd never been especially romantic with one another before, he only had other people's experiences to compare it to instead of his own.

Yuuri shrugged, trying to play his embarrassment off as he cleared his throat. "I don't know. I had fun, and I guess you could say it was romantic or whatever," he mumbled, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his head.

"You guess?"

"Yeah, well… I'm not really that good at romantic stuff."

"Neither am I," Wolfram reminded him.

The look Yuuri met him with was odd in that he couldn't identify it, but he seemed to have something on his mind the rest of the way back to the hotel. He looked at the ground or stared straight ahead, his fingers occasionally twitching in Wolfram's grasp, loosening their hold on him, before tightening again moments later. Wolfram let him wade through his own thoughts, falling into silence and taking in the sights as they continued wandering through the city.

It wasn't too late by the time they entered the front doors of the hotel, though the sun had long since set and it was completely dark out. Yuuri led him through the lobby, pressing the button to have one of the elevators come down for them, before guiding him inside and choosing the correct floor. They walked slowly once they arrived on their hall, as their night together with no interruptions quickly began coming to a close.

"Wait," Wolfram stopped him before Yuuri could slip the key card out of his wallet and open the door, tugging on his hand so that Yuuri turned to him.

"What?" he asked, staring down at him curiously.

Wolfram tried to explain himself but couldn't find the words, so he resorted to what he was best at and took action instead, taking Yuuri's face into his gloved hands and leaning up to press their mouths together.

The kiss was soft and sweet, a tender meeting of lips that left Wolfram's heart fluttering and longing for more. He tried to express as many of his emotions in it as his could – his love and desire, his regret that such a wonderful evening had to come to an end so soon – and he thought he could sense similar sentiments in Yuuri's response. His husband held him gently but firmly, and pulled away only at the sound of the elevator doors opening again down the hall.

"Hold on," he whispered. "Just give me a second."

Wolfram might have stopped him from opening the door again if he weren't so confused, but Yuuri had his key card out and slid it into the door handle before Wolfram could form a sufficient response. Yuuri crossed in first, then held it open for him, letting it swing shut on its own as he moved to enter the sitting area.

Shori was waiting for them, lounging on the couch and flicking through the channels on the TV. "You have fun?" he asked, directing his question toward Yuuri, but sparing Wolfram a quick glance as well.

"Yeah. Thanks for watching Merry," Yuuri said, beginning to take his winter coat off.

Wolfram followed suit, slipping his gloves off of his hands and pulling his hat from his head, damp as it was with melting snow. He set them onto a nearby table, then worked on removing his shoes and thick jacket.

"You need to teach your kid to make less of a mess," Shori told them, setting the remote control onto the coffee table as he stood up. "He puked all over me when I fed him."

"He's not sick, is he?" Wolfram asked, immediately growing concerned.

"Nah, it was just spit up. He's sleeping now."

Yuuri rolled his eyes at his brother, tossing his coat onto one of the empty chairs. "Spitting up and puking are different things, Shori."

"You'd be the expert on that, wouldn't you? You and your desperate need to adopt random babies."

"Merry's only one baby, and it wasn't random."

"If you say so," Shori responded with a casual shrug. "You going to be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't we be?" Yuuri wondered.

"Just checking. You didn't have any problems tonight, did you?"

"No, it was great. Thanks for helping."

"Don't mention it."

Wolfram watched as Shori moved to ruffle Yuuri's hair, hiding a smile at the disgruntled look that crossed Yuuri's face.

"You can go now," Yuuri said, swatting his brother's hand away.

"Okay, okay, jeez. Such little appreciation you have for your big brother."

"I already said 'thank you.' What more do you want?"

"You could give me a hug," Shori suggested, opening his arms to him.

Yuuri rolled his eyes a second time and sighed exasperatedly. "Good night, Shori," he said, marshaling him to the door.

"Remember, safe sex is great sex."

"Shori!"

Wolfram blushed darkly at the comment and knew that Yuuri must be, too, but he didn't turn to see his face, keeping his back to the two of them while his ears tuned in to their conversation.

"Although I'd prefer it if you didn't have sex at all," Shori continued authoritatively. "You're still too young."

"Yeah, well, Dad could tell me a thing or two about you and the things you did when you were younger."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Good night, Shori," Yuuri repeated forcefully.

The door shut with a definitive click behind him, leaving Wolfram and Yuuri in the silence of their hotel suite, broken only by the faint sounds issuing from the television. Wolfram swallowed down a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, standing by the couch with his coat in his hand. He contemplated what to do with it, before finally moving to set it alongside Yuuri's over the back of a chair.

He turned to his husband once his hands were empty and he no longer had anything to distract himself with, feeling awkward and out of place after Shori's inappropriate comments. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, meeting Yuuri's eyes for a brief moment, before lowering his gaze again when he could do nothing more than blush.

"We should check on Merry and get ready for bed," he was able to make himself say through the tightness that had suddenly beset his throat.

He began to move to the bedroom, but was halted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Not yet," Yuuri said, turning him back around to face him.

"But Merry-"

"He'll be fine on his own for a little bit. He's just sleeping."

Wolfram would have argued if he could think of anything to say. Instead, he stood and waited for Yuuri to either say something or continue what had been interrupted in the hallway, looking up at him expectantly.

Yuuri didn't disappoint him, leaning in to claim a kiss that left him breathless in seconds. Wolfram slipped his arms around him, pulling him closer with his palms against his back, lightly pressing into the stiff muscles. Yuuri groaned against his mouth, burying a hand in his hair while the other lightly fingered his neck.

Somehow they ended up on the couch, though neither of them could say how or when; Wolfram wasn't sure which one of them had led the other there, and could only assume it had been a mutual effort. They sat close to one another, changing the angle of their heads as they continued to kiss, beginning innocently enough – a tender brushing of lips that slowly transitioned to something more passionate. Their mouths molded together, tongues meeting and breath intermingling as their hands explored.

Wolfram pushed Yuuri back against the arm of the couch, not really thinking about his actions, but allowing his impulsive nature to take control. He kissed him deeply, feeling rather unskillful at it, though he was too lost in the sensations to care. His hands slipped beneath Yuuri's shirt, which elicited a jolt in response, causing him to pause and pull back in concern.

"What is it?" he asked, hoping he hadn't grown too enthusiastic. He never intended to be; it was simply difficult to contain himself now that Yuuri was responding in kind.

"Nothing," Yuuri said with a timid smile. "Sorry. Your hands."

"Are they cold?" Wolfram wondered, quickly removing them from Yuuri's torso. "I wore gloves."

"I guess they only helped so much," Yuuri observed. He took the hands before Wolfram could completely pull them away, raising them to his mouth to kiss. "It's okay. You just need to warm up a bit more."

Wolfram watched as Yuuri alternated between kissing and blowing on his hands, warming them with his breath then gently pressing his lips to the tip of each finger. He smiled at Yuuri's gentleness, his blood rushing swiftly through him as each touch of his lips caused his pulse to quicken. When he was done, Yuuri kissed each palm, lowering them from his mouth once he'd done so and guiding them back under his shirt.

"That's better," he said.

Wolfram swallowed again, unable to meet his gaze as he let his hands begin to move. He slid them up Yuuri's sides, following the motion under the fabric of Yuuri's shirt with his eyes, stopping under Yuuri's arms before sliding back down. He slipped them to the front, touching the muscles of Yuuri's chest, pressing more firmly when Yuuri's delighted sigh gave him an extra boost of confidence. He paused in his exploration to massage Yuuri's shoulders, then lightly dragged his nails over the warm skin on his way back down, his heart skipping a beat when Yuuri leaned into his touch.

He paused with his hands on the hem of Yuuri's shirt, briefly questioning himself, the annoyance that was his doubts momentarily catching up with him. If Yuuri noticed, he gave no verbal sign that he had. His hands were quick to join Wolfram's and tug up on the material. Reassured, Wolfram helped him remove it, pulling it up and over Yuuri's head before letting it fall to the floor.

He feasted his eyes on Yuuri's bared chest, shifting his gaze from the Adam's apple that bobbed in Yuuri's throat when he swallowed, all the way down to the bulge that was beginning to form in Yuuri's pants. He had to tear his eyes away from it, his breaths coming quicker as his anticipation grew, returning his sights to Yuuri's chest. He moved his hands across it, brushing a palm over one of Yuuri's nipples, before leaning down to hesitantly place a kiss in the dip between Yuuri's collar bones.

"Wait, hold on," Yuuri said, as breathless as Wolfram felt, taking him by the shoulders to push him back.

Wolfram immediately began to worry that he'd done something wrong, and looked at Yuuri uneasily. He hadn't thought he'd done anything too horrible. "What did I do?" he asked, his face flushing with shame.

"Nothing!" Yuuri quickly replied. "You didn't do anything! Don't worry. I just… I wanted to ask you something."

Confused but marginally reassured, Wolfram knelt over him, keeping his hands on Yuuri's chest but failing to move them. "Ask me what?" he wondered

It was Yuuri's turn to flush red, gaping at him as he stuttered. "I… um… I wanted to ask you if… I mean, if you've ever… you know, done this… before."

"You mean… kiss?"

"Yeah… Er…" Yuuri paused, and the color in his face deepened. "Well, not just kissing. More than kissing. That is… have you ever… is this the first time you've… done things with someone. I mean…" He cut himself off, appearing frustrated that he wasn't able to say what he wanted to say, before finally just forcing his question out in the plainest terms. "Are you a virgin?"

Wolfram's mouth fell open at the question, mirroring Yuuri's previous expression. His cheeks colored, surpassing Yuuri's flush by a couple of shades, as he snatched his hands away from Yuuri's chest and wrung them together.

He hadn't expected a question like that; he hadn't even thought that Yuuri would consider asking it. It had never crossed his mind that Yuuri would have to ask him, since he'd thought he'd made it obvious by now that he didn't have any more experience in these matters than Yuuri did. He'd hoped his lack of knowledge wasn't too obvious, and he supposed he was receiving an answer now, which made him wonder just what sort of image he was portraying to his husband.

Was he being too enthusiastic? Too pushy? Did Yuuri think he was expecting something more now that they were becoming more involved? Was Yuuri feeling as if he were being pressured into something he wasn't ready for?

He hadn't wanted that. He wanted Yuuri to want him, too. He didn't want him to do it to prove a point or because he thought it was what Wolfram himself would want. He wanted it to be something they both agreed upon, a communal decision between the two of them to take things a step further whenever they felt they were prepared for it – or as prepared as they were going to be.

"I…" he continued to gape, his mind drifting into a hundred different directions as he attempted to answer intelligibly. "Y-Yes," he finally stammered, shifting his eyes away. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just thought that… since you're older than I am… you've had more time to, you know… be with people," Yuuri explained, his words broken by awkward pauses.

"Eighty-six really isn't that old," Wolfram told him, frowning when he remembered their argument from that morning. It wasn't a topic he wanted to get back to so soon, but he felt this was probably something they should discuss. "It's not like I'm your grandfather. It's the same as being seventeen. It just… took me longer to get there."

"Right," Yuuri agreed, nodding to show that he understood.

Neither of them looked at one another. The atmosphere quickly changed from something heady and desirous, to something much more unsettling.

"So… have you ever wanted to… you know… have sex… before?" Yuuri asked after a few tense moments, fidgeting in place. "With anyone?"

"N-No," Wolfram replied, feeling completely exposed even if he still had all of his clothes on. "It's not like I didn't want to at all or… anything like that. I was just never interested in anyone before. Not until you came. And then it wasn't right away. It's… it's really rather recent."

"Oh…"

"As in, the last year… or two. But then I knew you didn't want to, so I didn't bother thinking about it too much since I didn't think it was ever going to happen," Wolfram continued quickly, wondering if he was revealing too much. "And now I…"

"Now you what?"

"I… I'm not sure how much I'm ready for," he admitted, hanging his head and lowering his hands back down to Yuuri's body, resting his palms lightly against Yuuri's sides but doing nothing with them. "I'm fine with this. I like this. Touching you and… kissing you. I like what we did last night."

Yuuri responded to the reminder by shifting beneath him.

"And… I'd do it again… if you want to. But beyond that…" he trailed off, then shrugged and absently began running his hands up and down Yuuri's sides, doing everything he could to prevent his modesty from getting the best of him and causing him to clam up. "I'm not sure yet. Maybe… a little more time. I don't even know what you want."

"I want you."

"Well… yes, but… _how _do you want me?"

"It doesn't matter. I just do," Yuuri said, holding him with his hands on his shoulders. "I think I shouldn't sometimes. It's… odd… and it's all happening so fast."

Immediately, Wolfram's hands stilled and he tensed above him. "Then we don't have to do anything!" he insisted. "If you think this is too much-"

Yuuri stopped him before he could get too far, tightening his grip to prevent him from pulling away. "That's not what I meant. I'm fine with this, Wolfram. Didn't I prove that to you last night?"

"Maybe you were acting in the moment."

"I wasn't," Yuuri said determinedly. "I did that because I wanted to, and because I thought you wanted to."

"I did."

"It's just surprising, I guess, when I think about how much you mean to me. I mean, we've known one another for four years, and you'd think I'd have realized it a long time ago, and maybe I did to some extent," Yuuri elaborated, lightly rubbing at Wolfram's shoulders before sliding his hands along his arms. "But nothing really clicked until we got married, and even then I only did it because everyone wanted us to and it would be good for the kingdom, and I didn't trust anyone else to help me the way I trust you. Then when you were attacked I… I got so angry."

"I remember," Wolfram said, recalling the look that had crossed his face when he'd seen the bruises, the way he'd marched to Conrart's office in such an imposing fashion and demanded to speak with the prisoners face-to-face, and all the threats Conrart had told him Yuuri had made.

"After that, I… I started to realize how much I need you, more and more. And it shouldn't have taken something like that for me to finally get my act together, should it? Not when I had all that time and you were always there."

"It wasn't that different for me," Wolfram reminded him, easily pinpointing the moment his feelings had changed. "I didn't realize how much you meant to me until I thought I was going to lose you. Before, being with you was more about status and pride. Then you were gone," he said sadly, "and I would have done anything to get you back, not because losing you would have been a mark against my honor, but because I needed you." He lifted his gaze back up, looking directly into his eyes. "I would have rather died with you than lived without you."

"I know," Yuuri replied, continuing to stroke up and down his arms. "And I… I'll do whatever it takes to keep anyone from hurting you." He frowned as he said it, and Wolfram thought he was probably thinking back to what had led them here.

He wondered how much Yuuri really regretted what he'd done. He was certain Yuuri felt remorse that things had progressed to that point, and most likely that he'd been the one to commit the final act that ended Ilyich's life. Yuuri never would have wanted to do it himself, no matter what the reason, at least if he'd had the time to think about his actions while the event was occurring, but that did not mean he wouldn't have wanted things to conclude as they had if it had been conducted in a different manner, through another's hands.

The end did not justify the means with Yuuri; that didn't mean it wasn't the end he wanted, as long as it was through more acceptable means, and had nothing to do with him.

He was tempted to ask him about it, but knew better than to broach the subject so soon.

Eventually, Wolfram shook his head, forcing the memories away so that they would not disrupt their time together. "I don't want to talk about that anymore," he said, swallowing again and taking another few moments to build his confidence back up before leaning down to lightly kiss one of Yuuri's cheeks. "It's over, and we're here now. I don't want to have to worry about things like that while we're away from the castle. I only want to be with you."

"I want to be with you, too," Yuuri professed, turning his head to brush their lips together. "Can we do it again?" he asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper. "What we did last night…"

Wolfram blushed and felt his throat tighten, and when he couldn't trust himself to give a verbal response, he nodded his head to agree.

If he were to be honest with himself, he would admit that a part of him had hoped the evening would lead to something like this. He and Yuuri hadn't spoken about the previous night at all, at least not in depth, and he hadn't wanted to think about it any more than he had to for fear of becoming awkward in Yuuri's presence. The way in which he'd behaved and some of the reactions he'd had had been borderline humiliating, and while he wanted to guard himself as much as possible and preserve some semblance of his propriety, he couldn't deny his body the opportunity to experience those sensations a second time.

Sex had never been one of his topmost priorities. He was convinced that he could live without it if he absolutely had to, and upon getting married he'd resigned himself to the fact that he and Yuuri might always be spouses in name alone. Consummation was not that important to him so long as he could be by Yuuri's side; he'd choose Yuuri's love and companionship over sex any day, but with an advance in their physical relationship came an increase in his sexual interest, and his body yearned for more, however much he tried to control it.

There was something about Yuuri that caused his blood to stir in unfamiliar ways. He didn't know if it was his large, dopey smiles, or the gentleness of his rough hands, or the darkness of his eyes and the careless sweep of his hair. He didn't know if it was the sound of his laughter, or the low timber of his maturing voice when they spoke to one another privately, or the muscles he'd developed during hard training. It seemed to be a combination of everything; when they'd first met, he'd thought he would never learn to appreciate Yuuri's innocent charm, but he'd come to realize over the years that Yuuri was everything he could ever want in a man.

Beginning again was uncomfortable, to say the least. Talking about it beforehand made the entire decision terribly embarrassing, as opposed to acting on instinct and letting their bodies guide their movements. Wolfram could tell that Yuuri was experiencing a similar sense of mental distress, as neither of them quite knew how to start.

Their lips touched in the barest of caresses. Wolfram kept himself bowed over Yuuri, hesitant to do anything else without some sort of positive signal from his husband, whose hands remained safely on his arms for the first few moments, before moving to rub comforting circles along his back. Wolfram relaxed at the touch and sunk against him, supporting himself with his forearms on the arm of the couch while their kisses slowly deepened.

Yuuri shifted down into a more comfortable position, splitting his legs so that Wolfram could settle between them and no longer have to worry about kneeling with one knee on the edge of the couch. Their hips met when Wolfram lowered himself to lie on top of him, eliciting a quiet moan from Wolfram and an appreciative hiss from Yuuri. He felt Yuuri's mouth open beneath his, then there was a tongue prodding at the crease of his lips, encouraging him to return the gesture.

His mind was carried away by bliss. He couldn't think passed a few seconds as his body began to react on its own, seeking as much pleasure as he could induce from what little he knew to do. Yuuri responded in a similar fashion, and soon they were moving together in an intermittent rhythm. His pelvis shifted against Yuuri's, sending amorous sparks up his spine and out to his extremities. His fingers grasped the arm of the couch, nails clawing at the fabric, his toes curling within the socks that covered his feet.

Soon a pair of hands took hold of his hips, and Yuuri guided his movements into something more steady and regulated. Wolfram was absolutely mortified by the whine that worked its way out of his throat, and was thankful it was at least half-muffled by Yuuri's mouth. They took turns directing the kiss; one minute Yuuri's tongue was dominating his, kissing him breathless, and the next he was retracting it to allow Wolfram the opportunity to do the same.

Wolfram draped himself over Yuuri's body, touching as much of him as he could at once, pressing their chests together as their hips continued to grind. He could feel what little control he had beginning to slip away, his motions growing urgent as he was overwhelmed by his own desire. He was fast approaching the height of his passion and was desperate to prolong the building pleasure, but he lacked the skill and patience to forestall the inevitable.

His hands left the arm of the couch to search over Yuuri's body, sinking into his dampening hair before traveling down to stroke his heated skin. He lifted himself up enough to slide his palms between them, groping at whatever parts of Yuuri he could reach. He explored the firmness of his chest again, releasing a few more fervid moans, fingering his raised nipples and the sparse hair he encountered before drifting lower, coming to a stop at the waistband of Yuuri's pants.

If he'd had his wits about him or retained the capacity to think, Wolfram wouldn't have dared to do anything more, but he was ravenous with lust and lacked any sort of comprehension. He fumbled with the fastenings to Yuuri's jeans, clawing at the stubborn button before managing to slide it through the hole, roughly pulling at the zipper until it no longer impeded his questing hands.

Yuuri gasped, then groaned and broke the kiss to toss his head back and arch into his touch. Bravely, one of Wolfram's palms slipped beneath Yuuri's pants, before drifting into his Earthen undergarments and making direct contact. He touched uncertainly at first, his mind beginning to catch up with his actions, until Yuuri moaned loudly and encouraged him to wrap his fingers around him in a loose grip.

"I thought of this," Yuuri spoke the words to the ceiling, his voice husky with want. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was flushed, his short hair disheveled if it wasn't adhered to his skin from sweat.

Wolfram swallowed at the confession, remembering a similar admission from the night before when Yuuri had disclosed his tendency to touch himself, and the one time he'd thought of him. Normally, Wolfram would have found the revelation of such private matters to be distasteful, but the idea that Yuuri had experimented with thoughts of him was thrilling. It was exciting, knowing that a simple fantasy of him could bring Yuuri to the brink of pleasure.

He moved his hand experimentally, watching Yuuri gasp for air and press himself against him.

"Wolfram," his name was pronounced on a moan, more erotic than he'd ever heard it said in his life.

He tried to keep his mind blank, not wanting to allow his inhibitions to get the better of him. Instead, he observed the way Yuuri's body tensed and curved in abandoned, his head hanging over the couch arm as he thrust into his hand. Wolfram didn't look down, fearing he'd lose his nerve if he were to see what he was doing, but he could feel it all.

"Wolfram," Yuuri panted again, his eyes opening to reveal dilated pupils, glittering in the flashing light of the television.

Embarrassed as he was with his hand down Yuuri's pants, Wolfram couldn't look away, breathing heavily through parted lips as his heavy gaze locked with his husband's. His own hardness was left trapped within his pants, aching in a delightful way, and he shifted his hips in the hopes of relieving himself.

Yuuri noticed his condition, his eyes dropping down, and Wolfram could do nothing to hide it or cater to his modesty. He stopped his even stroking when Yuuri pushed himself up, taking him by the back of the head and bringing him in for an intense kiss that left him trembling. Wolfram responded eagerly, unconsciously tightening his grip, though his movements did not continue. They sat together on the couch, Yuuri with his legs splayed and Wolfram crouching between them, losing themselves in one another as their hearts pounded and their bodies strained for release.

When Yuuri's free hand crept below his waistline and cupped him through the constraining fabric of his jeans, Wolfram cried out and pressed against his palm, his hips jerking wantonly. His release took him by complete surprise. A piercing gasp left his mouth and resonated in the sitting room, joined by a high, whining moan from deep in his throat.

He slumped into Yuuri after his muscles loosened as his body went lax, his hand slipping away and his head lowering to rest on one of Yuuri's shoulders as he panted for breath, overcome with emotion and the quivering aftershocks of his absolution. The suddenness of it had caught him off guard, and he cursed himself for being unable to hold out longer.

"That was quick," Yuuri commented with a quiet laugh, one of his hands lightly stroking up and down his back.

Wolfram hit his bared chest with a stinging smack, refusing to lift his head. "Shut up," he demanded, embarrassed enough without his teasing.

Yuuri laughed again and hugged him tightly. "It's okay. I don't care," he said, and Wolfram couldn't help but think he sounded rather pleased with himself.

Wolfram continued to rest against him, settling his breathing and letting the rushing of his blood slowly die down. He cringed over his deficiency, glancing down at himself with a sneer. He hadn't even lasted long enough to remove any of his clothing; his shirt was still buttoned, his pants securely fastened. Not even a sock was out of place.

He could sense Yuuri's amusement without having to look at him, which only caused him to shield himself further, leaving his head on Yuuri's shoulder with his face pressed into the side of his neck. His face felt hot even as his body began to cool. He couldn't decide which night was more humiliating, this one or the last; he'd come first both times, and rather loudly, once waking Merry and then losing it over the barest of touches.

Yuuri let him wallow, and Wolfram took full advantage of his kindness, intending to hide until he could regain some of his composure. In his shame, he forgot that Yuuri had yet to join him in completion, until his husband took the hand Wolfram had removed and brought it back to its former position.

Wolfram tensed but failed to snatch his hand away, gulping down his nervousness and insecurities as he gently circled his fingers around it. Yuuri bolstered his efforts with quiet moans, keeping his hand over his to guide it along. Again, he didn't look, but he could feel Yuuri's body reacting to every stroke, muscles tensing, hips bucking, breath catching..

He was glad that Yuuri didn't last much longer; mortified as he was by his inability to hold out, he was reassured with the knowledge that Yuuri had been almost as close. Yuuri wasn't half as loud, finishing with little more than a grunt, but the spasms that overtook his were just as powerful.

Yuuri's breath was hot and raged in his ear. Wolfram could feel Yuuri's heart pounding within his chest, which rose and fell as he panted. Placing kisses down the side of Yuuri's neck, Wolfram treated him to the same sort of comfort Yuuri had shown him, holding him and rubbing at his back until he was able to come back to himself.

Yuuri nuzzled his face against the side of his head, eventually pulling back to gaze at him. Wolfram met his look a bit shyly, but was able to retain eye contact, swallowing and then clearing his throat of any lingering awkwardness. He lifted his hands with the intention of framing Yuuri's face to bring him in for a soft kiss, but stopped when he remembered his right hand was wet with Yuuri's release. He looked at it, unsure of what of to make of it, feeling both accomplished for having brought Yuuri so much pleasure and dirty for having the evidence of it on his hand.

"Sorry," his husband apologized, reaching down to grab his discarded shirt and using it to clear up the mess. His cheeks were still flushed, and he appeared to be as embarrassed as Wolfram felt.

Wolfram shook his head but let Yuuri clean his hand off, though he imagined he could still see the pearlescent liquid running over his skin in rivulets.

His pants were uncomfortably damp. Looking down, he could see that his jeans had darkened over his crotch.

"I think I'd like to take a bath," he said, feeling unclean and exposed.

"Okay," Yuuri agreed, quickly straightening his attire. "Do you want me to come with you?"

He almost said 'no.' His preference for privacy was an impulse he was trying his best not to give in to, with Yuuri more than anyone else, but the instinct to seclude himself was not always easy to deny. He paused long enough to settle himself, preparing his mind for the personal invasion, before nodding his reply.

Yuuri rose from the couch first, a bit unsteady on his feet. Wolfram stood to help him and kept him from stumbling, taking one of Yuuri's arms at hand until he'd regained his balance. He would have laughed if his own knees didn't feel so weak, quaking slightly as he waited. Yuuri smiled at him, reaching out to tuck a strand of blond behind one of his ears, then he took Wolfram by the hand and led him away.

* * *

"Next time, we're leaving you at home."

Blue eyes stared at Yuuri accusingly, blaming him for something he wasn't even sure he'd done. Merry's small, wet, drool-secreting mouth was pulled down into a ferocious pout, his little hands balled into tiny fists that shook with emotion. His miniature body heaved threateningly as he prepared to announce his extreme displeasure to all within the vicinity.

"Yup," Yuuri decided, waiting for the meltdown to begin. He would have tried to stop it if he thought there was a successful way of doing so. "You can stay with Lady Celi. I bet she wouldn't mind."

Merry whined, his eyes growing wet with tears, before his head fell back and he opened his mouth to let out a blaring wail.

"I really don't know what you're crying for. You can stop now, please."

They sat together in a large hotel ballroom, surrounded by beautifully dressed people eating fancy hors d'oeuvres and holding glasses of champagne. Bob's Christmas Gala wasn't very different from the parties Yuuri had attended in the other world. There was music and dancing, good food and a constant flow of alcohol, and people talking business everywhere he turned. The women in their designer gowns simpered on their husbands' arms, each man looking as pompous and self-important as the last.

Yuuri smiled absently at the group that looked his way when Merry's crying commenced, glad when they chose to carry on their conversation elsewhere and moved out of earshot, wanting as few people as possible to witness the travesty that were his child-rearing skills. He'd already given up trying to shush him, admitting defeat to the fickle moods of a three-year-old demon baby. For such a happy child, Merry chose the worse moments to fall into a bad mood.

"You wanna try screaming louder?" he said sarcastically. "I don't think those people on the other side of the room can hear you."

He was sitting in a chair at one of the round tables covered by a pristine white table cloth, with a floral arrangement decorating the center, around which had been set plates of expensive china, crystal glasses, and gleaming silverware. He'd pushed his aside to seat Merry on the table top, holding him by his little waist to keep him from falling off. They were both dressed appropriately for the evening, Yuuri in a black tuxedo that made him feel stifled and restrained, reminding him of the stiff uniforms he would be expected to wear again once he returned home, and Merry in a smaller version of a similar suit.

The baby had been in a horrible mood all evening, beginning when they'd first gotten him dressed for the party and continuing over the last hour. Yuuri had stupidly offered to relieve his husband of the responsibility, thinking that Merry would soon cry himself out and his whining would die down to quiet fussing, before coming to an end altogether. He had clearly underestimated the extent of Merry's temper, and now wished he hadn't decided to be so generous. He wanted nothing more than to escape the tantrum and busy himself with other things.

As much as he hated it, he would chose paperwork over this any day.

Wolfram had been dragged off by Yuuri's mother some time ago, caving to her request for a dance and leaving Yuuri to be a parent on his own for the first time. His brother and father had also vacated the scene, Shoma to catch up with a few colleagues he hadn't seen since the last time they'd been in Boston, and Shori to schmooze with those who would one day be his employees. Yuuri searched the crowd for them, but they seemed to have vanished; neither Bob nor anyone important to his motley of organizations were visible through the dense mob in attendance.

Yuuri sighed and turned back to Merry, no closer to calming him than he had been five minutes ago. "Come on, stop crying," he said, patting at him unsuccessfully. "You've already been fed and your diaper isn't wet yet, so what's the big deal? You can't be tired. You took a long nap this afternoon."

He considered attempting to make faces at him, but decided against it. If getting him to calm down was as simple as that, Merry probably wouldn't be crying so loudly. Yuuri would then be better off if he were to refrain from seeming like such an idiot in front of so many people, though he supposed his inability to calm his child wasn't helping his case at all.

"It's because I'm a moron, isn't it? You just don't like me. Don't worry, you're not alone. Plenty of other people don't like me either. Gwendal and Wolfram didn't like me at all when we first met."

Merry paused briefly when Yuuri uttered the name of his favored guardian, but upon looking around and realizing that Wolfram was nowhere to be seen, his screaming continued to grow in pitch.

"But they came around. Yozak did, too, and Stoffel, and Alford, and Lady Flynn, and Antoine and Laila. So even if I'm not all that great at the start, I must be doing something right. Maybe I'm just the sort of person you have to get used to before you can appreciate me." Yuuri stopped to wince at a particularly shrill shout. "Or maybe I just suck with kids," he conceded.

He wondered what it was about him that was so unappealing to young children. He tried to be friendly, and he didn't consider himself to be all that frightening, at least when compared to other people; Gwendal seemed to have no problems with kids, yet he was much colder and more distant, and his brusque manner should by all rights be intimidating. He figured it might simply be his lack of experience. Gwendal had, after all, had the privilege of caring for a younger brother.

Of course, that didn't explain how Wolfram managed to handle Merry so well. Wolfram's only experience with babies came from their failed attempt at babysitting Hube and Nicola's son, which, as he remembered, had turned out horribly. It didn't seem fair to him that Wolfram was no more prepared for this sort of thing than he was, but was having a much easier time of it.

"You never give Wolfram any trouble," he grumbled, frowning when his utterance of the name caused Merry to pause again. "That's right, I said 'Wolfram.' Do you know where Wolfram is?"

Merry whined and hiccupped, turning his head this way and that to seek out the apparent source of and solution to his problem. "Mmmaaaa-mmmm," he cried pitifully.

Yuuri almost felt sorry for him; he'd have been more inclined to feel pity if he weren't currently receiving dirty looks from the people sitting at the table next to his. "Where is he? I don't see him, do you? Guess he must have went somewhere else. That's too bad for you," he commented, then added under his breath, "and for me."

Wide blue eyes welled with even more tears, and this time when Merry's tantrum began anew, he flailed in consternation.

Sighing, Yuuri lifted him from the table before he could hurt himself and let him cry against his shoulder. "You're getting my jacket wet," he observed, even if he really didn't care. "And you're making people look at me like I'm some horrible person. I'm not hurting you, but you're probably going to hurt yourself if you keep crying like that."

The sound of his cries was even louder with his mouth closer to his ear, and Merry seemed to take advantage of the new proximity, screaming his displeasure into his face.

"I'm too young for this," Yuuri concluded, feebly patting at Merry's back while attempting to rock him back and forth.

"Yuu-chan!"

He'd have recognized his mother's form of address anywhere, and though he should have been embarrassed to be referred to in such a childish manner in public, he was more relieved than anything else. He turned to face Miko's disapproval, brightening when he saw Wolfram following her.

"What do you think you're doing, letting Meri-chan cry like that?" Miko demanded, snatching the baby away from him without waiting for an explanation. "You poor thing. Come tell Mama what the problem is."

Merry whimpered in response, looking from her to Wolfram.

"Did your papa do something to upset you?"

"I didn't!" Yuuri exclaimed. "He just started crying! It's not my fault I don't know what to do!"

Miko ignored him and continued to shush her grandson. "There, there. It's alright now. You just let Mama take care of everything."

Yuuri groaned and sagged against the table, hitting his forehead against it with a quiet thud. A hand against his back told him that Wolfram had approached him, and Yuuri slowly raised his head to meet him with an expression of misery.

"I'm no good at this," he lamented. "You'd think he'd be grateful to me for saving his life, but all he wants is you."

"I told you that you didn't have to take him," Wolfram reminded him. "I would have been fine staying with him."

"You've been with him since I brought him home. I thought you might need a break or something. Aren't we supposed to be doing this together? As co-fathers or whatever?"

"You obviously aren't adapting very well."

"I should be adapting easier than you."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Yuuri said with another groan, lowering his head back down before saying something he might regret. "Never mind. I'm just going to sit here and feel like an idiot."

Wolfram's hand remained against his back for a little longer, before he felt it slipping away as his husband moved closer to Miko in order to help her calm their adopted son. Yuuri didn't bother to interfere, keeping himself seated with his head against the table, listening to Wolfram and his mother whisper and croon to the baby. With more desirable attention being given to him, Merry's cries gradually began to lower to less frightening whimpers, occasionally interrupted by a hiccup or cough.

Minutes later, he sensed Wolfram sitting down beside him and lifted his head to peer at him. His husband looked particularly debonair dressed in a black tuxedo with coattails, and a red silk ascot at his neck. The blond hair that usually curled atop his shoulders had been swept back and discretely pinned out of the way, adding a bit more maturity to his bearing.

Yuuri found it odd to see him dressed in less frilly formal attire, but thought he looked attractive regardless.

"Where's Mom?" he asked when he managed to tear his eyes away and glanced around for her.

"She said she was going to look for your father," Wolfram replied, easily holding Merry in his lap.

"Probably to tell him how horrible of a father I am," Yuuri said. Wolfram looked so natural with the baby that Yuuri almost resented him for it, but reminded himself that it wasn't Wolfram's fault Merry wasn't as comfortable with him as he wished.

"You're not horrible."

"You don't have to lie. I've accepted it. There's no use in pretending I can do this."

"It wasn't a lie," Wolfram told him, gazing at him seriously.

"He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"How do you know that?"

"He's only three years old. He can't comprehend anything enough to hate anyone."

"Great. That makes me feel so much better. It's not that he likes me, it's that he's not smart enough to know better."

Wolfram dismissed his comment with a frown. "You're being unreasonable."

"That's funny, coming from you."

"Is there are reason you're being so short with me?"

Yuuri winced at the question, rubbing at his forehead with one of his palms. "No. Sorry. I'm just frustrated. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"You're not doing anything wrong," Wolfram said as reassuringly as possible after his defenses had raised. "Some children just grow more attached to one parent than they do to the other."

"And when did you become such an expert on parenting?"

"I don't know any more than you do. I'm speaking from my own experiences," Wolfram explained. "I'm obviously much closer to my mother than I am to my father."

Yuuri paused at that, noting the truth in his statement. He almost asked him to further elaborate, but decided this was neither to time nor the place to be discussing Wolfram's relationship - or lack thereof - with Captain von Bielefeld.

"Okay, so I'm not a failure," he was forced to agree. "He just wants you more than he wants me. What did you do to make him so… clingy?"

"Hell if I know," Wolfram responded rather crassly, looking utterly bewildered as he glanced down at Merry. "He's going to have to get used to being with someone else once we go back home. It wouldn't be appropriate to have him in the office with us all the time."

"What are you going to do, leave him with your mother?"

"While I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind, I thought bringing in some hired help would be more acceptable."

"You mean like a nanny?"

"Yes, if you want to call it that. I don't know very many noble children who spend all of their time around their parents. Most of them have nurses and governesses to look after them when the parents are unable to, especially at such a young age."

"Why didn't we ever hire one for Greta?" Yuuri asked.

"Because Greta was old enough to be focusing on her education, therefore she was spending most of her time with her tutors. Not to mention the fact that you and I weren't married. My responsibilities were different and I had more time to take care of her."

"While I sat in meetings and did paperwork," Yuuri finished, slumping over the table again, planting the side of his face against one of his palms. "I don't see why you'd think I'd want my own kids when I don't even have the time to take care of the ones I already have."

"I simply thought you might desire a more natural relationship," Wolfram said, somewhat quietly. "Or at least 'natural' according to your terms."

Yuuri didn't say anything in response, partly because he couldn't think of much to say against it. In the past, he'd made such a fuss about wanting the sort of life his own father had had that his actions now weren't enough to mitigate Wolfram's insecurities. He'd been so careless and inconsiderate with the things he'd said that he was finding it difficult to take them back, even with such blatant and honest advances. Wolfram's doubt was as unyielding now as it had been the day they'd made their vows, and it was proving to be a rather troublesome adversary.

He thought he might know what Wolfram was trying to say, only he wasn't using so many words to do it. Despite their last two evenings worth of sexual play, Wolfram continued to consider that he might find others - particularly women - more attractive. Yuuri couldn't deny that he was curious when it came to intimate relations with females, but given the circumstances he had no intention of ever discovering its appeal. Wolfram had proven his loyalty and devotion to him time and again, and he fully planned on returning the favor.

"What if we went somewhere?" he asked without thinking, giving into a spontaneous whim.

Wolfram glanced up after adjusting Merry so that he sat more securely in his lap. "We already have. We're on Earth, aren't we?"

"No, I meant somewhere else," Yuuri said. "Just you and me."

"What about Merry?"

"We can leave him with my parents. They wouldn't mind, and he likes Mom enough. He'll be okay with her for a while."

"I think it would be rather rude to leave Bob's party so soon when your brother went through the trouble of having us added to the guest list at the last minute."

"I don't mean right now," Yuuri told him, straightening in his chair as he grew more inclined to the developing idea. "I meant after Christmas, before going home. Like a vacation."

"Hasn't coming to Earth been vacation enough?"

"But we'd be going somewhere together," Yuuri emphasized, "without anyone else. It'd just be us. I won't bring my books with me so I won't be distracted by studying, and Mom and Dad can watch Merry for us until we get back."

"That doesn't sound very responsible," Wolfram said uncertainly.

"So what? We're young. We deserve some time to be irresponsible."

Wolfram hesitated to agree. "I don't know."

"When's the last time you just dropped everything and did something for yourself?" Yuuri prodded.

"I haven't. I have duties, Yuuri. There are expectations."

"But we're on Earth now. We've already set our duties aside to come here. We left the kingdom for other people to take care of. What's to stop us from taking it a step further and leaving Merry with my parents to go somewhere else?"

Wolfram grew quiet to think over his suggestion, glancing down at Merry as he warred with himself.

"It'll be like going on our honeymoon," Yuuri said in an effort to tempt him. "Remember before I went to war? I told you we could once I got back."

Now that the idea had settled more firmly into his brain, Yuuri was keen to act upon it. He hadn't been completely serious when he'd mentioned the honeymoon before going to war; two months ago, it had simply been a pleasant thought for Wolfram to consider while awaiting his return. Even now he wasn't suggesting it as a way of celebrating their recent marriage, though he _would_ like to be alone with Wolfram.

He wanted to go further with their relationship, he wanted the opportunity to discuss it and come to a mutual decision on exactly how far they wanted it to progress. What they'd been doing so far was nice, but knowing where they both intended for it to go would do wonders for his confidence. He liked knowing what to expect; more than that, he liked knowing what Wolfram expected.

He wanted to solidify their relationship without the constant threat of interruption, and preferably before heading back to the Great Demon Kingdom. They had another week before they were expected home; they should make the most of it.

"Where would be go?" Wolfram finally asked, unable to hide the beginnings of an interest.

Yuuri took only a few moments to consider their options before replying, "Let's go to Paris."

* * *

They arrived in France late in the afternoon of the twenty-seventh of December. Yuuri thanked the Great One and every Earthen and other-worldly god in existence that his older brother was generous. It was due to Shori's connections that they'd gone to Boston with his family, and it was through those same connections that he and Wolfram now found themselves in Europe. It helped that Bob's primary establishment was close by in Switzerland; as such, both he and Shori knew Paris well.

Yuuri stole Anissina's translation device from Wolfram during the plane ride, taking complete control of the situation for the duration of their visit. If he'd known they'd end up doing so much traveling on Earth, he would have brought two of the ear pieces, but he'd rather make do with the one they had than interrupt their plans to make a quick trip back for another. Wolfram didn't take too well to being unable to understand the native people, so Yuuri did his best to soothe and guide him appropriately.

It was a bit disconcerting to be able to hear and speak the language fluently but not be able to read it, and Yuuri could only be glad that in his studies of English he'd become familiar enough with the alphabet to sound out the words and hope they registered with the earpiece, though he felt confident that he was butchering the French pronunciations. He was at least reassured by Wolfram's pronouncement that hearing him speak the foreign tongue was oddly beautiful.

He should have expected Shori to book them in another luxury hotel, but found himself astounded by the opulence of their residence nonetheless. Even Wolfram seemed intrigued this time, paying closer attention to their surroundings, and stealing quick peeks out of each window they passed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tower he'd deemed a fascinating product of modern architecture. Now that they were there, Yuuri thought the impulsive journey seemed rather silly, but he indulged Wolfram in his enchantment.

"We can go to the Eiffel Tower tomorrow," he said, fiddling with the key as he attempted to open the door to their room.

"Why is it called the Eiffel Tower if this city isn't named Eiffel?" Wolfram wondered, helping him with some of their bags, his arms blessedly empty of any clinging babies.

It had been a bit of a struggle getting Wolfram to agree to leave Merry behind, but in the end he'd managed to convince him that it didn't make them bad parents to entrust their new son into the care of others for a short while.

"I think it was named for the guy who designed it," Yuuri replied, holding the door open once he had it unlocked and helping Wolfram through. "We should go see Notre Dame and Versailles, too, while we're here."

"And what are those?"

"Notre Dame is a famous cathedral. You know, like a church?" he explained, not too sure how much Wolfram would comprehend, and if the words actually registered, as he'd never taken the time to thoroughly explore the religious beliefs of the other world. "It took over a hundred years to build it, apparently. And then Versailles is a castle. I think you'll like it. I've only ever seen it in pictures, but the Hall of Mirrors is supposed to be awesome."

"I'm assuming that's what one the rooms in the castle is called?"

"Yeah, or one of the halls, really."

"Is it very big?" Wolfram asked.

"The castle? Yeah, I guess."

"Bigger than Blood Pledge?"

Yuuri thought the question over before deciding he wasn't sure what to tell him. "I don't know. It'll be different than Blood Pledge, that's for sure. Blood Pledge is more like a fortress, and Versailles is just a royal palace."

"So it'll be more luxurious?"

"Probably."

Wolfram's curiosity was obviously aroused. Yuuri could tell by the way his eyes glittered, and how he seemed to be carefully considering the information he was relaying to him. He only hoped Wolfram would refrain from getting any ideas to implement changes within Blood Pledge Castle due to their adventures here; they wouldn't have the extra money to finance it with a war going on, and as pretty as it might look, Yuuri didn't think a replica of the Hall of Mirrors would be practical in their home setting.

He let his husband look around their hotel room while he took their bags into the bedroom. Shori had once again spared no expense and booked them in a lavish suite, and Yuuri was doing his best not to think about how much it had cost him. His brother had already gone above and beyond what was expected of him, and Yuuri felt as if he would be indebted to him for life. As soon as he had the means to do so, he would have to find some way of repaying him.

After setting their things down, Yuuri decided that unpacking could wait and went back out into the sitting room to join Wolfram.

"What else are we going to do while we're here?" Wolfram questioned him, looking out onto the city from one of the windows, pausing to glance at the tower again before examining the large television.

"Eat and sleep?" Yuuri suggested, grinning at him when Wolfram rolled his eyes. "I guess we can do the touristy thing. Take in all the sites. We could go to the Louvre. That's a museum. Lots and lots of art." He watched Wolfram's eyes light further at that. "Then there's the Arc thing, and the Bastille, though it's not there anymore, there's just a monument or something, and we could always go to Disneyland if you wanted to."

Wolfram stopped exploring as he spoke, turning to him as the brightness in his eyes slowly diminished. "Bastille?" he asked, looking both curious and alarmed.

Yuuri blinked, and for a moment he couldn't figure out why the mention of the historic prison would arouse Wolfram's anxiety, but it didn't take long for his memory to be jogged. The last time he'd heard that name, it had been in a discussion about Wolfram's father, and though he'd yet to find out what had happened in the Great Demon Kingdom's Bastille twenty-four years prior to his ascension, he knew it couldn't have been anything good judging from the variety of reactions the topic received.

"It was a prison," he quickly explained. "Some peasants tore it down at the beginning of the French Revolution. It was all symbolic and stuff," he finished inadequately.

"I see," Wolfram said, turning back to the window to avoid Yuuri's gaze as his thoughts overtook him.

Yuuri withheld the temptation to ask him about the town so similarly named, not wanting to risk the continuation of the relaxed mood for the sake of more information. That was something he could find out later, when he didn't already have other, more favorable plans in mind.

Clearing his throat, Yuuri moved toward the small kitchenette to grab a bottle that had been set on the counter by the hotel staff in preparation for their stay. "Do you want some wine?" he asked after fruitlessly examining the label, searching around for some glasses.

Wolfram glanced over his shoulder at him, raising a brow at the bottle in his hand, before joining him by the counter and shrugging in response. "Why not?"

Yuuri poured them both a generous helping once the glasses had been procured, handing Wolfram one before taking the other for himself.

"Let's sit on the couch," he suggested. "We can watch the television or something."

"Even though I won't be able to understand what they're saying," Wolfram said with a smile, then turned to make his way to the couch anyway.

"Right. Well… you can take the ear piece back if you want. At least for now."

"It's fine. You'll just have to tell me what's going on."

They sat close together, sharing one half of the couch instead of spreading out. Yuuri drank his wine in large gulps, while Wolfram sipped his daintily, appearing much more cultured and civilized than Yuuri felt, though he didn't seem to mind Yuuri's lack of sophistication in their current setting. Yuuri turned on the television to begin searching through the channels for something to watch, and ended up leaving it on a movie he wasn't all that familiar with, but one he hoped wouldn't require too much explanation.

The rest of the afternoon was passed in an atmosphere of calm and contentment. Yuuri finished his glass of wine before Wolfram, but waited for him to prompt him for a refill before getting more. When evening arrived and their stomachs complained of hunger, they considered going out to find a nice restaurant, but decided not to risk the change in mood and settled for having food brought up to them instead. Yuuri called to place the order in uncertain French, while Wolfram sat beside him and listened avidly.

Wolfram was already flushed from the wine when their food arrived. He smiled easily and sat closer to Yuuri, making quiet comments and laughing unrestrainedly when Yuuri attempted a joke or two. They passed food between them, sharing a bit of each dish; the hungry looks Wolfram kept giving the dessert cake were hard to miss, and Yuuri gave up half of his piece so that his husband could eat his fill, which earned him a few slow, languid kisses as a reward.

By the time they decided to go to bed, most of the wine had been consumed, and the remnants of their dinner littered the plates they'd left on the coffee table. Wolfram laughed more openly than usual, and more frequently, but he wasn't so lost to the alcohol that his mental processes had become seriously impaired. He was merely in a good mood, and Yuuri was happy to see him when he wasn't restricting himself to his stringent propriety.

They changed into their nightclothes in the bedroom, exchanging furtive glances and evasive smiles. Yuuri watched Wolfram's pale skin being exposed as he stripped off his shirt and jeans, before it was shrouded again by his purple pajamas. He regretted not being able to stare longer, and wished he'd had the opportunity to touch it.

He followed Wolfram into the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth before leaning against the counter to wait for his husband to finish up. He let his eyes wander over his frame, from his shining hair to the toes that peeked out from beneath the cuffs of his pajama pants, using the mirror to study him from different angles, and deciding that Wolfram looked just as perfect from one to the next. He silently marveled over the fact that someone who looked so beautiful and refined would want to be with someone as simple and uncouth as him.

"Staring is rude," Wolfram told him with a wide smile, wagging a finger in his face that had Yuuri blinking out of his awed trance.

"And drinking is for grownups," Yuuri replied in amusement, confident that while Wolfram wasn't drunk, he was at least very nicely buzzed.

"I am a grownup," Wolfram said and poked at Yuuri's chest with the same slender finger.

"Sorry," Yuuri feigned an apology. "I forgot that you're an old man."

Wolfram showed him as much of a disgruntled expression as he could make. "I am not old."

"Could have fooled me, Grandpa."

"Don't call me that."

"What do you want me to call you, then?"

Wolfram paused to give this some serious thought. "Call me…" he started, then trailed off to think again. "Call me whatever you want to call me, but don't call me that."

Yuuri laughed at his answer. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Don't call me that either," Wolfram said, shaking his head, before quickly stopping when he realized that wasn't such a good idea. "That felt strange."

"Because you drank a lot."

"It wasn't a lot," he corrected him. "You drink more than I do anyway. Or you do now. And you did today. The only reason you're not like this is because… because I don't know. But you didn't use to drink, and you shouldn't drink now. It makes people act funny."

"Does it make me act funny?"

"Sometimes. You start looking like this," Wolfram said, and attempted to make a serious face, which just ended up looking humorous.

Yuuri laughed at him again, lifting a hand to brush at some of Wolfram's hair. "We should go to bed," he said.

"And do what?"

"Sleep. What else?"

"There's a lot else we could do," Wolfram informed him as he walked backwards into the bedroom.

"Like what?" Yuuri asked, having some idea of what he was referring to. That didn't mean he couldn't let Wolfram be the one to suggest it.

"Like things."

"What kind of things?"

"Things that feel good."

"Like we've done before?"

"Yes and no," Wolfram said, shaking his head more slowly this time.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Yuuri wondered, as his heart skipped a beat in his chest.

Wolfram's coy smile turned into a smirk as he sat himself against the edge of the bed. "Come here and find out."

Yuuri hesitated for only a moment, crossing the distance that had developed between them to stand in front of him. Wolfram lifted his arms to drape them over his shoulders, pulling him closer and parting his legs so that Yuuri was standing between them. Yuuri leaned down, tasting the mint of their toothpaste and the lingering flavor of alcohol on Wolfram's tongue.

They kissed upright for a while before making their way further onto the bed, Wolfram leading with heated glances and adventurous caresses that had Yuuri closely following. Yuuri allowed himself to be pushed onto the mattress, running his hands along Wolfram's body as his husband climbed on top of him, before jerking away when one of Wolfram's hands found its way to the swelling that tented his pants.

"Wait," he said, pushing him back enough to look at him. "You've been drinking."

"So?"

"So don't you think we shouldn't be doing things like this until you're more clear-headed?"

"I'm clear-headed enough," Wolfram said determinedly. "It's better like this anyway."

"Why's that?" Yuuri asked, surprised.

"Because now I won't be afraid."

Anything Yuuri had planned or hoped for came to a halt at that statement, and he pushed Wolfram away a bit more to be able to sit up and look at him more fully. "What do you mean?"

Occasionally he would wonder just how much the attempted rape was still affecting him, but seeing as Wolfram hadn't had any problems with their activities thus far, he'd convinced himself that his husband had managed to put all of that behind him. Wolfram hadn't alluded to it either time they'd been intimate with one another, and he'd never seemed uncomfortable in the midst of their deeds – or at least whatever discomfort he'd felt had never seemed to be more than common embarrassment.

"You're not afraid of what we're doing, are you?" he asked, more anxious about it now than he had been before. "I'm not forcing this on you-"

"No," Wolfram interrupted him. "Don't be stupid. You and Ilyich are different people, and this and that are different circumstances." He spoke of his tormentor easily enough, but at the same time his smile fell into a small frown.

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"I don't want to seem like a fool."

"Why would you seem like a fool?" Yuuri wondered, highly confused.

"Because I've never done this before."

"Neither have I. You know that."

"Yes, but I don't like feeling so vulnerable."

Slowly, Yuuri was beginning to understand, and relief was quick to fill him. "So this is because you get embarrassed?"

"Yes," Wolfram said with a definitive nod.

"I get embarrassed, too, you know."

"But you being embarrassed and me being embarrassed are different."

"Why?"

"Because I'm more proper. I don't like being naked in front of people."

"We're not naked," Yuuri pointed out. "And we haven't been."

"But I want to be."

"Even though you don't like it?"

"Right," Wolfram agreed. "Because it's you and it shouldn't matter. We're married and I want to be with you, and that means being naked and touching each other in awkward places."

Yuuri tried not to let himself react in a way that Wolfram might find insulting, but he couldn't control his laughter. "And here I thought you were so mature," he said, amused by Wolfram's refusal to say anything obscene.

"Shut up," Wolfram commanded with a soft smack to Yuuri's shoulder. "Don't laugh at me. It isn't funny. I'm just being honest with you."

"Right. You're right. Sorry. I won't laugh anymore," Yuuri said, though he had trouble stifling his chuckles. "I guess it's not so surprising that you're uncomfortable with being naked, considering you put up such a fuss when I suggested you take your clothes off during our dual."

"That was inappropriate."

Yuuri chose not to argue with him and switched to a different issue. "But we take baths together all the time and that doesn't seem to bother you very much."

"Only because I don't look at anything," Wolfram revealed. "I keep my eyes to myself."

"So you don't want to look at me?"

"No. Stop twisting my words around. I do want to look at you, but it's inappropriate."

"We've been doing a lot of inappropriate things lately," Yuuri reminded him.

"And I'm always embarrassed after it's over. I'm trying not to be, so I drank more than usual tonight," Wolfram finally came full circle with his explanation. "But I'm not drunk, so don't start worrying about taking advantage of me. I'm just…"

"Tipsy?"

"Yes, that's a good word."

Yuuri sighed as he stared at him, not sure what he was supposed to do now. "So then you were planning on doing something tonight?"

Wolfram blinked before shaking his head. "No, but I thought you were."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you wanted to come away so badly. I thought you wanted to go on this trip to…" he trailed off, shifting his eyes to the side elusively. "You know…" he eventually finished, making a quick, indistinguishable motion with one of his hands.

"I know what?"

"You know what it is you wanted to do."

"I wanted to be with you."

"Right."

"Without anyone else around," Yuuri clarified.

"Exactly."

"That doesn't explain what you thought I wanted."

Wolfram frowned, huffing in exasperation, before crossing his arms over his chest and glancing away again. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Say what?"

"Sex!" he blurted out, the word bursting out of him so loudly and suddenly that Yuuri jumped in place. "I thought you wanted to come here together because you finally wanted to have sex!"

As soon as Wolfram was done and his booming voice had cut off, they both fell victim to a tense silence. Wolfram wouldn't look at him and Yuuri didn't try to make him, fighting a blush as his brain automatically brought a deluge of indecent pictures to the front of his mind. Many of them contained subject matter congruent to Wolfram's outburst, and his body reacted to the imagined images keenly, his carnal urges flaming to life.

He hadn't been thinking of sex specifically when he'd had the idea to come away together, though he wouldn't have been wholly opposed if Wolfram had hinted at it sooner. It was a frightening prospect, if only because he'd never done it before, but it was something he no longer found to be morally disturbing. Acknowledging everything they'd already done thus far, full intercourse would simply be the next bridge to cross together.

He was completely aware that the sort of contact they would perform was practiced by heterosexual and homosexual couples alike; it wasn't something relegated to a certain sect of people, though some may be more open to it than others. Whether or not he was open to it himself was the real issue. The thought of it was far from disgusting, but the act itself could end up being quite different. He was unsure if he would be able to see it through, and worried that Wolfram may be expecting something he wouldn't be comfortable with.

"Okay," he eventually said, taking a breath to calm his nerves, and asked what he thought was probably one of the more important questions, "So how are we going to do this then?"

Wolfram still appeared embarrassed for having shouted his assumptions so loudly, but he returned his gaze to him at his question. "I'm not going to tell you how it's done if you don't know how to do it, because that's more than I feel comfortable explaining," he swiftly answered.

"What? No!" Yuuri was quick to set him straight. "I know how it's done! It's hard not to hear people talking about it sometimes."

Wolfram's face twisted into an expression of distaste. "It's inappropriate to discuss one's private life in a public setting."

"Yeah, well, people on Earth are a little more open, I guess," he replied, coming to the conclusion that Earthen societies liked to pick and choose what they wanted to be open about. "I meant how are we going to do it," he told him, before fidgeting uncomfortably. "You know, who's going to be doing who."

With his mouth set into a prim line, Wolfram adopted his usual pretentious posture. "You could speak of it properly instead of using such common terms."

"Fine," Yuuri acquiesced, flushing as he amended his sentence to please his genteel husband. "Who's going to be penetrating who?"

"Don't say things like that either!" Wolfram demanded, clamping one of his hands over Yuuri's mouth. "Do you have to be so indecent?"

Unsure how he could have posed the question any differently without completely skirting the issue, Yuuri took hold of Wolfram's wrist to pull his hand away. "Will you just tell me how you want to do this? It's probably something we should decide before we start."

Wolfram frowned in response but didn't badger him further about his word choice. "Obviously you're going to be the one to do it," he said.

"Why is that obvious?" Yuuri asked, slightly confused. Wolfram had always been rather aggressive, and he'd assumed he would want to take the more dominant position if and when anything like this occurred. He certainly hadn't had any qualms over pushing him down.

"Because you wouldn't be comfortable doing it the other way, and I don't really care which way we do it," Wolfram replied, looking at him as if he couldn't believe he even had to ask. He lifted a brow questioningly, keeping his arms folded across his chest. "Unless you want to-"

"No, that's okay!" Yuuri interrupted him before he could make the suggestion. "You're right, as always."

"Of course I am. I know you well enough by now."

Yuuri said nothing against it, fidgeting again as their conversation reached an impasse. "So… I guess we should find something to… you know… help."

He stood from the bed before Wolfram could respond, moving around the room distractedly in his search for the supplies they'd need to accomplish their intentions. While he'd known that it could eventually come to this, Yuuri hadn't prepared for it as well as he should have. Their luggage was void of any sort of lubrication, and he was fairly certain Wolfram would refuse to continue without it.

He wandered into the bathroom, tripping over one of the bathmats in his haste and catching himself on the edge of the counter. He righted himself and paused to inhale deeply, feeling slightly calmed as he slowly released the air from his lugs, turning to the sink to begin riffling through the little bottles of complimentary soap and shampoo. Finding a bottle of generic hand lotion, he decided it would have to do and brought it with him as he returned to the bedroom.

Wolfram had moved to recline against the pillows, keeping his head lowered as he absently picked at a thread on his pajama top. Whatever confidence he'd managed to retain before seemed to have left him in the short time it had taken Yuuri to accomplish his objective, and he now looked as nervous as Yuuri felt. He didn't look up when Yuuri passed through the doorway, and only raised his eyes again when the mattress dipped under Yuuri's' weight.

Yuuri made an effort to smile, sitting in front of his husband and presenting the bottle of lotion to him "There's this," he said, moving his fingers to begin rolling the bottle over the palm of his hand. "It would probably be better if we had a condom or something," he added.

"What's that?" Wolfram asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"It's a kind of birth control. You put it on and… yeah," he said, then cleared his throat and tried to curtail his awkwardness. "A long time ago, they made them out of linen or intestines or something," he explained, thinking the devices of the past might be more familiar to Wolfram, but he saw no sign of recognition on his face. "Now they're made out of a kind of rubber."

"Why would we need one if we're both men?"

"Well, it's more sanitary for one, and it would keep things from being, umm… messy."

"Oh…" Wolfram voiced his understanding, before looking away as his shoulders lifted into a shrug. "Well, I don't care as long as you don't."

"Oh…" Yuuri imitated him, then grew silent as his mental functions failed to provide him with a step to cover next.

If this wasn't the most inexpertly handled first time in the world, Yuuri was convinced that it had to be a very close second.

When he didn't make a move to continue, Wolfram met him with an impatient eye. "If you're not going to get on with it right away, you can at least kiss me."

"Sorry!" Yuuri apologized, blushing again and lifting a hand to scratch at his head. He was reminded of the bottle of lotion halfway through the motion, and after glancing down to look at it, he set it aside temporarily, seeing no need to hang onto it.

Starting was probably the most difficult part, but he was confident that once they finally began, things would come more naturally to them, as it always did. Wolfram didn't move from his place against the pillows, so Yuuri was obliged to advance upon him, kneeling over him and cupping Wolfram's face to turn it up for a kiss.

It was a chaste meeting, designed to soothe their nerves and allow them to grow more comfortable with the idea of what they were about to do before continuing. Wolfram sighed through his nose, the gust of warm air fanning over Yuuri's cheek, as Yuuri kept him securely in place, breaking the contact for only a moment before moving in for seconds. He kept his eyes open, holding Wolfram's gaze then watching his long lashes flutter as his lids fell to conceal vivid green.

When Yuuri felt he'd taken enough time to calm himself, he lowered his hands from Wolfram's face and moved them elsewhere. One he slipped into his hair, letting the lustrous strands glide through his fingers as the hand settled against the back of Wolfram's head, the fingers of his other hand coasting down Wolfram's neck, feeling his pulse through the soft skin. Wolfram let out a quiet noise at the touch, something between a sigh and a moan, setting his own hands against the back of Yuuri's shoulders to pull him closer.

He kept himself leaning over Wolfram for a little while longer, but once he felt he was able to progress without growing too unsure of his actions, Yuuri lowered his arms to grasp Wolfram by the waist, tugging him down onto his back. Wolfram followed obediently, shifting to lie against the mattress, opening his eyes long enough for them to share a sensual gaze before they drifted closed again.

After one last emboldening breath, Yuuri surrendered to his desires and allowed himself to quench them. He touched Wolfram rapidly, lingering in one place no longer than a few seconds, grasping him through his nightclothes at first, before shoving his hands beneath them to ghost his fingers over his bare skin. Wolfram was both soft and warm, arching into him before squirming away at a particularly ticklish caress. Yuuri watched his every move, taking the time to memorize his reactions so that he would better know how to please him the next time.

Wolfram didn't remain passive for long, though Yuuri hadn't expected him to. His prior experiences told him that Wolfram could only contain himself for a short while before his usual aggressiveness demanded some form of release. Yuuri didn't mind it; Wolfram's excitement augmented his sense of purpose and encouraged him to become more determined in his actions. He attempted to match each of his husband's movements, allowing him to have the upper hand for only a few moments before regaining control, pleased by the noises he managed to elicit and the frantic responses he received as Wolfram's eagerness mounted.

When Wolfram leaned up to claim his lips, teasingly urging with his tongue, Yuuri opened his mouth and quickly dominated the kiss before Wolfram was able to do so. Wolfram's resulting moan shot pleasurable tremors through his entire body.

For the most part, Yuuri didn't allow himself to think, though it would have been difficult to formulate a proper thought even if he hadn't been forcing himself to focus on his other senses. The situation didn't call for much analysis, and he was fearful of reaching the wrong conclusions if he were to allow himself to consider things too deeply. Most of his prior hesitance had been the result of excessive contemplation, and the repercussions of that had been redundant and unfavorable to improvement or public and personal development.

Instead, he relied primarily on his sense of touch, letting his hands wander while he and his husband shared probing kisses, exchanging breath and saliva as their tongues battled and their lips fused together. Unhappy with Wolfram's state of dress, Yuuri began working on the buttons of his shirt, pulling the fabric apart as he slid each one through its respective hole. He didn't bother to remove it completely, but bared Wolfram's chest once he'd open it, satisfied that it would no longer serve as an obstacle to his searching hands.

His separation from Wolfram's mouth earned him a frustrated groan. Yuuri smiled at him teasingly and peered into Wolfram's eyes when he opened them again, nipping at the tip of his nose and nuzzling against his cheek, before planting a kiss to the side of Wolfram's neck. He nibbled at the white skin, parting his lips to suck on a small patch, brushing a blond curl aside as Wolfram tipped his head back and exposed more of his throat. Yuuri grazed his mouth beneath his chin, then kissed a path down one side, feeling Wolfram's pulse thrum against his lips.

Wolfram's breathing grew labored in his excitement, and as Yuuri's kisses reached his chest, Wolfram lifted his hips in an anxious thrust. Yuuri groaned in appreciation, shifting his pelvis down to meet Wolfram's to echo their prior experiences. Wolfram released a plaintive cry, beginning to maneuver himself in a more unrestrained fashion.

That desperation served as a clear sign that Wolfram was already close to losing all control, and Yuuri quickly saw to fulfilling his need for gratification. He retreated, kneeling over him again and reaching down to pull up on his own shirt, dragging it over his head and sliding his arms out of the sleeves in order to discard it. Wolfram's eyes were dark with desire and his hands quickly went to the familiarity of Yuuri's chest, as Yuuri removed the lower half of his pajamas, leaving his boxers in place in a final show of reticence.

Freed of a majority of his own clothing, Yuuri returned his hands to his husband and grasped at the waistband of Wolfram's pants. He paused to lock eyes with him, silently questioning, and watched as Wolfram swallowed nervously and nodded his assent.

He removed Wolfram's pants much slower than his, sliding them over his hips and down the long length of his legs, allowing himself to inspect each inch of skin that was revealed. Coming together as they were now, he no longer felt the need to be discrete with his glances and took full advantage of their partially nude state. When the pants had finally pooled around Wolfram's feet, Yuuri tugged them off altogether and tossed them out of sight, slowly and reverently moving his hands from Wolfram's ankles, up his shins and over his thighs.

He paused when he returned to Wolfram's hips, running a thumb over the waistband of his underwear. "Is this okay?" he asked, feeling his heart begin to pound more swiftly than before.

Wolfram shut his eyes in preparation for such an extreme invasion of his carefully guarded privacy, and relied on his movements to give an answer, bobbing his head again instead of forming a verbal response.

Yuuri experienced only a few seconds of hesitation, summoning the last traces of his courage as he slid both thumbs beneath the waistband and dragged Wolfram's underwear down his legs.

He forced himself to look before doing anything else, lowering his eyes to the proof of Wolfram's masculinity. Yuuri had thought he would feel uncomfortable looking at it, but as it was fairly similar to his own and familiar enough due to their shared gender, the apprehension he'd expected did not come. On the contrary, he was almost intrigued.

He reached out to touch it, more curious than he'd previously thought he would be. He'd felt Wolfram through his clothing on more than one occasion, both with his hands and as his husband pressed himself against him, but he'd never felt it without the barrier of cloth between them.

Wolfram gasped at the contact, jerking away in surprise, his eyes popping open to stare at him widely. He seemed much more uncomfortable with Yuuri touching him than he had when he'd touched Yuuri. It was a bit disheartening, but something Yuuri figured they would have to work through as they continued to grow into their sexuality.

Giving up for the time being, Yuuri leaned in with the intention of kissing him, but Wolfram spoke before their lips could meet.

"Hurry," he whispered, shaking with what Yuuri could only hope was anticipation and not anything more negative.

"What?" Yuuri asked him. He brushed his hands up and down Wolfram's sides with the intention of being comforting, but he wasn't sure the motion was having the desired effect.

"Hurry and do it," Wolfram said, just as quietly as before, his opened shirt hanging on his arms as he lied prone on the bed. "Please," he added, beseeching him with his eyes.

Yuuri would have liked to take more time to experiment with the added closeness their nudity provided, but he couldn't deny Wolfram's request without feeling as if he were forcing him into something against his will. He frowned in concern and almost stopped to make sure he was alright, but decided that it would be useless. He knew what Wolfram's answer would be, and urging him to open up about his distress would only prolong the matter, and probably complicate things quite a bit.

Hardly ready for what was to come next but wanting to respect Wolfram's wishes above all else, Yuuri retrieved the vial of lotion he'd set aside earlier, unscrewing the cap with shaking hands. He squeezed out a generous amount onto the fingers, then set the tiny bottle down again, leaving it open for later use.

Seeing Wolfram close his eyes didn't help his anxiety. He waited for him to part his legs, moving between them as Wolfram bent his knees and placed his feet against the mattress, exposing himself much more fully than he ever had before. Ever mindful of his modesty, Yuuri spared a quick glance at his face to make sure he wasn't too traumatized by the exhibition of his most private areas, ignoring his own blush when he set his sights lower and considered what he was about to do.

He could see Wolfram's entrance. It looked rather inconspicuous hiding there, closed snugly against invasion and perfect in its lack of violation. He wondered how anyone could possibly feel comfortable having something wedged in there, and hesitated again, growing even more uncertain.

Wolfram released an unhappy hiss, shifting in bashful irritation. "Do it," he demanded, refusing to open his eyes to watch.

Yuuri followed his orders despite his better judgment, moving his slicked fingers to the contracted opening. He touched it lightly, smearing some of the lotion around the outside before prodding it with one of his fingers and pressing inside.

He would have stopped at Wolfram's second hiss if he thought his husband wouldn't grow annoyed with him for not complying to his request to continue, able to sense that the noise was made in physical discomfort and not because of any sort of embarrassment. He moved his finger slowly, allowing Wolfram to grow used to the intrusion, watching his face for any sign of pain. His free hand went to one of Wolfram's thighs, rubbing it in a show of silent comfort.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked, too worried to keep his concern to himself.

"Yes, I'm fine," Wolfram replied, though the words sounded forced.

"Does it hurt?" Yuuri tried again.

"Not so much. It just feels strange."

"Strange how?"

"Why don't you try it and see for yourself?" Wolfram bit out.

Yuuri winced at the suggestion and the tone of Wolfram's voice. "No, thank you," he said.

He was somewhat reassured when Wolfram reopened his eyes, even if the look he was receiving was none too impressed. "Wimp," his husband called him, and though at that moment he most likely meant it as an insult, it sounded no less affectionate than usual.

"I won't deny it," Yuuri countered, leaning down to kiss one of his raised knees. "You always have been braver than I am."

Wolfram didn't respond and Yuuri refrained from encouraging him to, sliding his finger in further whenever it seemed Wolfram's discomfort had eased.

It took a while to prepare him. Yuuri made sure not to rush it, and did what he could to make the experience as easy and painless as possible, though there remained moments when Wolfram would clench his teeth or bite his lip through the unfamiliar sensations. Yuuri wondered if his reactions were purely physical, or if there was more that Wolfram wasn't expressing – a lingering fear or uncertainty perhaps, or even some sense of emasculation. Conducting the action himself, Yuuri was surer than ever that he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end.

He was consoled only when it appeared that Wolfram was beginning to enjoy his ministrations, his quiet hisses turning into equally quiet moans, his eyes slipping closed again and his expression becoming more blissful than afflicted. Whenever Wolfram made a noise that sounded favorable, Yuuri would repeat his previous motion until something else triggered an even better response.

When Wolfram cried out, suddenly and loudly, after Yuuri's finger – a joined now by a second – a brushed against something inside of him, Yuuri immediately halted and would have pulled his hand away if the look on Wolfram's face had been anything but euphoric.

"Are you okay?" he asked on impulse, concerned that he may have done something wrong, even if it didn't seem so.

"Yes!" Wolfram gasped, shifting his hips to move against Yuuri's fingers, something he had yet to do. "Again. Please."

Yuuri didn't know whether to be confused by the request or happy that he'd discovered some way to make Wolfram feel good. He chose not to question him. When he encountered the spot again, he watched his husband react in a similar manner.

Wolfram's back arched as his pleasure grew, and his head rolled from side to side on the mattress, his lips moving to form quiet words. Yuuri strained his ears to hear, barely able to pick up the litany of "please, please, please."

Finally, with one last prod of Yuuri's finger, Wolfram peaked. He came with a startled cry that tore harshly from his throat, nails clawing at the comforter as his body tensed. When Wolfram collapsed onto the bed, Yuuri pulled his hand away to caress Wolfram's side, rubbing at his knee with the other.

He waited in silence, staring at Wolfram's flushed face, darkest in his cheeks. His blond hair was tangled about his head, a few damp locks stuck to his forehead and cheeks. Yuuri reached a hand out to brush them away, pausing a slide his thumb over Wolfram's reddened lips.

Green eyes opened at the touch, hazy in his repletion. Wolfram nuzzled his cheek to Yuuri's palm, his movements lazy and sluggish. "You didn't do it," he observed, looking satisfied and dismayed all at once.

"I couldn't," Yuuri confessed, shaking his head with a regretful smile. "You just… I mean, you looked so…" He didn't bother to finish, unable to adequately describe the vision he'd made.

Wolfram frowned, though he looked more dejected than angry. "Do it," he said, still breathing rather heavily.

Yuuri gazed at him in surprise, hopeful, but also wary of Wolfram's condition. "But you're not-"

"I don't care," Wolfram declared. "Just do it," he said again, and when Yuuri made no move to comply, he added an imploring "please."

Yuuri couldn't have said 'no' if he wanted to, and after leaning down to press a kiss to Wolfram's mouth, he once again retrieved the bottle of lotion. He removed his boxers hastily and with little embarrassment, noting the way Wolfram's face darkened when his eyes lowered to his pelvis. Too worked up to feel abashed, Yuuri poured more of the lotion into his hand, then sufficiently covered himself with the substance, feeling quite unfulfilled when he took his hand away, but reassuring himself that the delay would shortly end.

He paused only long enough to make sure Wolfram was ready, pleased that Wolfram's released had enabled him to relax more. He settled into position between his splayed legs, guiding himself into place, then pushed in with very little resistance.

Yuuri doubted Wolfram enjoyed it, though he gave no sign that it bothered him, and since his husband had already reached his end, Yuuri wasn't as concerned with satisfying him as he'd been before.

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Yuuri to finish. Simply watching Wolfram had nearly brought him to the edge; being inside of him proved to be his undoing. It seemed to last only a minute before he issued his final thrust and, with a hoarse curse, spilled his essence freely into Wolfram's body.

Yuuri sagged against him, dropping his head to Wolfram's chest as he breathed. His heart beat in a thunderous rhythm, and the air was cold against his heated skin. Soft hands appeared on his back, lightly running down his spine, before thin fingers pressed into his muscles, encouraging him to relax further. Yuuri took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh.

He pulled out with some regret, lifting himself off of his husband but not yet leaving his embrace. He gazed down at him, and the lack of embarrassment between them was difficult to ignore. Wolfram met his look with conviction, and while a faint blush continued to tinge his face, there was no other visible sign of emotional distress. It was as if with this final act they'd advanced passed any sort of discomfort with one another.

"I love you," Wolfram said, quiet even in the aftermath, but his voice was strong and certain.

Yuuri smiled, leaning down for another kiss before whispering against his lips, "I know."

If Wolfram wished to hear anything different, he didn't show it and said nothing to insinuate any sort of disappointment. He returned Yuuri's smile, tightening his arms around him and planting a firmer kiss to his lips, his eyes sparkling with life and love. Yuuri kissed him back, finding it hard to imagine that he'd ever thought to deny this. Four months ago, he'd run from the thought of developing a sexual relationship, and he'd sought an escape, fearing the commitment. Now he couldn't think of anything he wanted more.

He'd taken his last step into adulthood, joining with Wolfram both physically and emotionally, sharing himself with the only person that truly understood him, and it was extraordinary.

No feeling in the world could ever transcend this.

**TBC…**


	25. Retourner

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and sexual content. Gratuitous use of an ever famous French song.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Rating:** M.

**A/N: **I recall someone asking about Merry's age in a review, so let me go ahead and clarify. Seeing as he's a full-blooded demon, even at three years old he's still a small baby. A three year old demon would be about the size of a six-to-seven month old human child. Sorry if there was any confusion!

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty-Five - Retourner - To Return**

_Des yeux qui font baisser les miens,_

_Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche,_

_Voilà le portrait sans retouche_

_De l'homme auquel j'appartiens._

Cords of music drifted from the speakers of the radio, filling the hotel suite with a soft, easy melody. Yuuri took Wolfram by the hand, conducting him to the center of the sitting room, to an open area devoid of any furniture. It was there that they danced, swaying slowly through the initial stanza, without much purpose to their movements but to rock gently back and forth. Soon, however, Wolfram showed him a playful grin and began flaunting his skills in front of his graceless husband.

Yuuri laughed as Wolfram pranced and cavorted around, letting him step away or flourish an arm. He stood still but turned his head to watch him whenever Wolfram changed directions, alternatively holding his hand or letting go depending on how and where Wolfram moved. Yuuri's eyes followed the alterations of his body, watching a limb bend or his figure twirl, before settling on Wolfram's lips, which formed the words of the song as perfectly as if he were speaking his own language.

"Quand il me prend dans se bras, Il me parle tout bas, Je vois la vie en rose," he sang in a strong, clear voice. "Il me dit des mots d'amour, Des mots de tous les jours, Et ça me fait quelque chose."

Yuuri grabbed Wolfram's hand when he pranced close enough for him to reach it, pulling Wolfram to him and leaning in for a kiss, but Wolfram lifted a finger to wag at him, shaking his head with a smirk as he backed away, taking his hand with him.

"Il est entré dans mon coeur, Une part de bonheur, Dont je connais la cause."

Yuuri tried again, only for Wolfram to evade him by circling behind the coffee table, sashaying between it and the couch. He went after him, accepting Wolfram's avoidance as a challenge that he was determined to win. He reached out with both of his arms when he approached, but Wolfram drifted away with another shake of his head.

"C'est lui pour moi, Moi pour lui dans la vie," he continued to sing, his motions becoming more deliberately teasing as he strutted around the room. "Il me l'a dit, La juré pour la vie."

Finally, Yuuri captured one of his hands again and used it to draw him closer, spinning him so that Wolfram's back met his chest. He wrapped both of his arms around him to prevent him from escaping, keeping a firm hold on the hand he'd managed to acquire. Wolfram made no effort to pull away this time, and returned to swaying with him as he finished the chorus.

"Et dès que je l'aperçois, Alors je sens en moi, Mon coeur qui bat."

Yuuri sighed into the side of Wolfram's neck, placing tender kisses above the collar of his shirt. "I've only ever heard this song in English," he said over the second stanza, lifting his lips to Wolfram's ear, where the translation earpiece they'd been sharing between them was inconspicuously hidden.

"It seems like we've heard it every day since we came here," Wolfram replied, his voice light with warm smiles.

"It's the most popular French song in the world," Yuuri explained.

"How have you heard it in English if it's sung in French?"

"Because there's an English version," Yuuri said, whirling Wolfram around the face him when the chorus repeated itself. He hesitantly sang the words for him in English, cautious of the pronunciations, and thankful that the constant replaying of his mother's old records in his youth had allowed him to learn it. "Hold me close and hold me fast, This magic spell you cast, This is la vie en rose."

Wolfram's smile widened and he leaned in for a kiss, but Yuuri copied his previous actions and lifted a finger to stop him.

"When you kiss me heaven sighs, And though I close my eyes, I see la vie en rose."

With a quiet chuckle, Wolfram slipped his arms around his neck, and Yuuri pulled him close to sweep him around the room.

"When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart, A world where roses bloom."

He did his best to sound confident as he sang. Wolfram had formed the French words effortlessly, but Yuuri had never been as proficient in English as he would have liked. His husband never seemed to misunderstand him, though, and as he was currently in possession of the earpiece, Yuuri supposed he was doing a decent enough job.

"And when you speak, angels sing from above, Everyday words seem to turn into love songs."

Yuuri spun his husband again, earning another soft laugh for his efforts, then pulled Wolfram back to finish the song chest-to-chest.

"Give your heart and soul to me, And life will always be, La vie en rose," he sang at the same time Wolfram concluded with "Mon coeur qui bat."

The chorus entered into another refrain, but their voices trailed off and let the music play on its own. Their playful antics subsiding, they came together for the kiss they'd both attempted but which neither had been able to establish. Wolfram's lips were soft and warm beneath his, arms hanging loosely around his neck. Yuuri kept an arm around Wolfram's waist while touching his other hand to the side of Wolfram's face, momentarily losing himself to love and tenderness.

They smiled at one another when the kiss ended, smiles that retained some level of shyness even after a week with only each other as company. Yuuri wondered how long it would take for that shyness to completely melt away. They had improved somewhat since their first night in Paris, and they grew more comfortable with added time and practice, but there was still that hint of innocence. Wolfram would shift his eyes away demurely, or Yuuri would feel his face flush, as the last traces of their childhood stubbornly lingered.

Yuuri knew that they would soon shed the final fragments of their minority years. He felt he'd already come a long way in doing so himself in just the past two weeks. He hoped to return home this time a changed man, in a more positive sense that he had after retracing his steps back from the front. The confident image he'd long desired to portray came easier to him now than it ever had before, and he had Wolfram's love and patience to thank for it.

"I wish we didn't have to leave so soon," Wolfram said in a tone that was light and wistful. He went back to swaying with him, leading Yuuri to and fro as the song faded into another mild tune.

"Gwendal won't be very happy with us if we stay any longer," Yuuri replied, not relishing the idea himself but feeling ready and able to tackle the problems that waited for him at home. "I told him we wouldn't be gone for longer than a couple of weeks."

"Gwendal would rather do our work for us than have to argue with us over it. This was probably as much of a break for him as it was for us."

Yuuri chuckled, though he could hardly imagine his Chief Adviser taking the time to relax. Naturally things were going to pile up that required the king's signature, but there would be issues that didn't call for the royal seal, and Yuuri expected Gwendal had taken the opportunity their absence provided to go through it all on his own. Gwendal would not let the kingdom go a single moment without the stability of a leader.

"We'll come back again sometime," Yuuri consoled him.

"Just the two of us?" Wolfram asked hopefully.

Yuuri could not stop his grin from spreading. "What happened to you feeling guilty about leaving Greta and Merry?"

Wolfram's expression quickly turned regretful, but though his smile left his lips, the gleam of mirth in his eyes endured. "Greta is old enough to understand that her parents need time to themselves, and Merry needs to learn some independence."

"He's three, Wolf."

"I was highly self-sufficient at that age."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Yuuri said, imaging what Wolfram must have been like as a three year old and thinking he couldn't have been much different. "I bet you were even worse than Merry is. All cranky and spoiled."

"If I was, it wasn't my fault. I didn't ask to be spoiled."

"No, but you definitely didn't mind it."

Wolfram gave a humph and lifted his chin to send his nose into the air, but as he did so he was battling a smile that threatened to curve his mouth up and ruin his lofty countenance.

Yuuri responded to Wolfram's pretense of snobbishness by lowering both of his hands to his sides, digging his fingers in to tickle him. Wolfram burst into uncontrollable laughter, caught off guard by the mischievous attack. He twisted out of Yuuri's grasp to dart away, but Yuuri was fast on his heels.

The lighthearted manner in which they reacted around one another had been augmented by their time alone. Gone were the long, tense moments that had previously defined their relationship, and the vicious spats that had once ruined any sort of intimacy they might achieve. Yuuri wasn't so daft as to believe that they'd never have arguments; they were too different to always be in agreement. Their short dispute in Boston had been proof enough that eternal serenity was impossible, but at least they understood one another in a way they never had before.

His confusion had all but dissolved, and Wolfram's insecurities were as moderated as they could be. Yuuri liked to think that their bond had strengthened more since the day they were married than it had during the four passionless years of their engagement. Most importantly of all, Wolfram was happy, and Yuuri was resolved to making sure his husband never knew a moment's worth of sadness again.

He chased Wolfram around the sitting room, threatening him with fingers that sought to extract peals of youthful giggles and hearty laughter. A few times he was able to catch him, but Wolfram always slipped free to bound off in another direction. Yuuri followed his every move, shadowing him right, then left. Somehow he managed to outwit him and trap him in one corner of the room, wiggling his fingers at him and causing Wolfram to laugh without even touching him.

Yuuri didn't tickle him again, but leaned over as his arms slipped around Wolfram's waist, clumsily hoisting his husband over one of his shoulders. Wolfram shrieked in surprise, before laughing and thumping one of his hands against his back.

"What are you doing?" he demanded with a mixture of alarm and amusement.

Yuuri could barely form a reply, struggling to remain steady under Wolfram's weight. "You're heavier than you look, Wolf," he said, holding on tighter for fear of dropping him.

"I was a soldier," Wolfram pointed out. "I do have some muscle."

"No kidding."

"You can put me down."

"In a minute," Yuuri told him, adjusting his hold again to be able to lightly pat Wolfram's backside. Carefully, he turned around to begin making his way to the bedroom, moving as quickly as he dared.

"Is this really necessary?" Wolfram wondered, grasping at Yuuri's shirt and attempting to raise himself.

Yuuri stumbled but managed to catch himself before either of them could be hurt, swatting at Wolfram's butt a second time. "Don't do that. Just hold still."

He successfully carried Wolfram into the bedroom, though it took more effort than he'd thought it would. He hadn't expected Wolfram to be quite so heavy; even lightly muscled, Wolfram still appeared fairly thin, his slenderness obscuring his strength. He dropped him onto the mattress a bit more harshly than he'd intended, earning a disgruntled "oof" before climbing up to join him.

Wolfram eyed him hazardously, cautious of his motives. Yuuri smiled at him to ease his worries, a small lift of his lips that soon grew into a larger grin as he kneeled over him and fingered Wolfram's disheveled hair.

"What?" Wolfram asked.

"How are you feeling?" Yuuri questioned in return.

Green eyes blinked at him in confusion. "Fine, although I'm wondering what the purpose of that was."

"Is it so bad that I wanted to get you into bed?"

He really was growing to like the way Wolfram flushed, how the red looked against his pale cheeks and contrasted with his viridian eyes. It was sinfully attractive, and compelled him to tease him in order to draw out the reaction, though he had to be careful not to go too far and risk inducing Wolfram's anger instead.

Wolfram tried to seem affronted by his comment, but it was obvious that he had nothing against their current position. "You could have just told me."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You would have saved yourself the trouble."

"It wasn't any trouble."

"You complained that I was heavy," Wolfram pointed out.

"At least I can lift you. You probably wouldn't be able to do the same to me."

Wolfram took his statement as a dare, and Yuuri found arms winding around him as his husband righted himself and attempted to pull him over one of his shoulders. The effort was made more difficult by the fact that they weren't on a solid surface and neither of them were standing. It ended with them doing nothing more than collapsing onto the mattress again, with Wolfram unintentionally pulling Yuuri above him.

"See?" Yuuri said with another cheeky grin. "I told you so."

Wolfram playfully pushed at one of his shoulders. "Don't be so cocky."

Yuuri's brows raised at the word, earning another faint blush from Wolfram, though he had to wonder if his companion had used it purposefully. Wolfram did have a vulgar streak, which he usually reserved for disparaging remarks against humans, but Yuuri thought it might be nice to have Wolfram grow comfortable enough with him to use crude language in more intimate situations. It would definitely be an amusing, if not exhilarating, experience to have Wolfram talk dirty in bed.

"Speaking of being cocky…" he replied, trying the word out for himself and deciding it wasn't such a bad thing to say. Without warning, he lowered himself onto Wolfram, settling his full weight upon him.

"Oof," Wolfram said again, but the arms around him kept Yuuri in place.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Yuuri asked, brushing at Wolfram's hair again, tangled and mussed from being suspended upside-down.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just wanted to make sure."

"I feel fine," Wolfram said convincingly enough.

"Do you?" Slowly Yuuri lowered a hand to Wolfram's hip, then slid it behind him to wedge it between Wolfram's bum and the mattress. "What about here?"

A darker pink suffused Wolfram's cheeks. "I said I feel fine," he repeated, then cleared his throat. "If you want something, all you have to do is say so."

"What makes you think I want something?"

Wolfram raised a brow as if to ask him if that question was truly expedient, or if he was just wasting his words.

Chuckling, Yuuri met him for a kiss, failing to keep it as chaste as they used to. He liked the taste of Wolfram's tongue and the feel of it in his mouth, just as much as he liked the vitality in his eyes and the lean firmness of his body.

They'd taken their time since their first encounter with penetration, which Yuuri looked back on with both fondness and regret. There were times over the last week that he'd wondered if perhaps they'd gone too quickly that night, though he didn't think he would change a thing about it, except that they might have joined together with less discomfort. He would have liked to reach completion together, instead of taking their pleasure from one another separately and joining only in a cursory manner.

For most of the week, they had reverted back to their former exercises, pleasing themselves with an exchange of hands or the friction of their bodies rutting together, taking turns directing their experiences. It was stimulating to lie naked with Wolfram and let his hands explore, to let his eyes settle where he'd never dared to look, only to discover that he thoroughly enjoyed the shape of Wolfram's body. He could live without breasts or other such womanly curves when he had the flawless expanse of Wolfram's flat chest and stomach, his narrow, bony hips and his pert, round backside.

But occasionally, as they basked together in the aftermath of their mutual fondling, sharing lazy kisses and dreamy smiles, Yuuri would feel a baffling sense of dissatisfaction. It had absolutely nothing to do with Wolfram's gender, or Yuuri's prior notion of establishing sexual relations with a beautiful woman, and instead stemmed from a different sort of unfulfilled desire. Yuuri had definitely enjoyed the act of penetration, and was often occupied with thoughts of trying it again, but he was wary of Wolfram's comfort. Wolfram had never said anything about it either way, whether he liked it or would be happy never to do it again.

The night before, he'd braved Wolfram's fickle moods and snuck his fingers between the cheeks of his rear while his husband had been busy grinding against his lap. The reaction he'd received had been far from negative, as Wolfram's hips had bucked fiercely before he'd pressed down on the intruding digits. Yuuri would have questioned him and suggested it then, had Wolfram not released so soon and ruined his hopes of coming together.

He wanted to be inside of him again. The heavy petting was definitely fun, and satisfying in its own right, but it didn't compare to being within Wolfram. He feared it was a selfish desire, as Wolfram hadn't seemed extremely comfortable the first time, but Yuuri was constantly on the lookout for any sign that Wolfram might be open to it, and only now, on their last night in Paris, had he grown restless enough to bring it up on his own.

"I want you," Yuuri confessed, breaking the kiss to attach his lips to the side of Wolfram's neck, being careful in leaving a mark, so that it would be in a place that could easily be covered by the collars of Wolfram's shirts.

His hair was rustled by Wolfram's resultant sigh. "I want you, too," he said, sliding his hands up the back of Yuuri's shirt.

Yuuri released the patch of skin he'd been mouthing to shake his head. "I don't want to just do what we've been doing," he explained, raising himself up to be able to look him in the eye. "I want to be here," he told him, squeezing with the hand still caught between Wolfram's rump and the bed.

Wolfram blushed and shifted against the mattress, but gave no other indication that he was against it. "Okay," he replied, his voice lowering modestly.

"Are you sure?" Yuuri was certain to ask. "We don't have to. Especially if you're still, you know… sore."

"I told you that I'm fine."

"I don't want you to say that just because you know it's what I want."

"I'm not. I'm telling the truth," Wolfram asserted, then pulled up on Yuuri's shirt to drag it over his head.

Yuuri lifted his arms to help him, but made no move to continue once it was off. "Did you even like it?"

Wolfram paused, his face continuing to darken as the topic of their conversation grew to be more personal. He shrugged in answer, lowering his eyes to Yuuri's chest as he moved his hands over it. "There were parts of it that were uncomfortable, but I didn't expect it to be fantastic the first time," he claimed. "I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it got better after a while. I liked that we were close. I liked being connected like that."

"But do you want to do it again?"

"Didn't I just tell you I was okay with it?"

"You can be okay with it and still not want to do it," Yuuri alleged, not wanting to commit to it if it meant Wolfram had to force himself to endure.

Wolfram frowned at his statement, before shaking his head and smiling softly. "I want you to. I want our last night here to be special. You know we might not have as much time to be together at home."

"I know," Yuuri agreed ruefully. As determined as he was to go back with an improved mindset, he was going to miss the stress-free days they'd been able to spend together on Earth.

"So don't worry about it. I want this," he said, and then as if to further prove his point, he leaned up to add in a trembling whisper against Yuuri's ear, "Do it, Yuuri."

Yuuri didn't know how else to respond to that but to kiss him silly, crushing his mouth to Wolfram's in an almost bruising fashion, dipping his tongue inside to taste him.

They wasted little time with foreplay. Yuuri feared that if he allowed Wolfram to get too worked up, his husband wouldn't be able to hold out long enough for him to make his way inside. As soon as they had both stripped naked, assisting one another in the removal of their clothing, Yuuri grabbed the half-empty bottle of lotion they'd used their first night and unscrewed the cap to make use of the rest of it, pouring a liberal amount onto his fingers to prepare Wolfram for penetration.

He listened intently to each sound Wolfram made, committing them to memory in the hopes that he would be able to make him feel even better next time. He was pleased to note that a majority of what left Wolfram's mouth were soft sighs and quiet moans. Only a few times did Wolfram release a hiss of discomfort, which was quickly soothed into more encouraging noises. Yuuri was as gentle as his impatience would allow him to be, never failing to place Wolfram's comfort over his own enjoyment.

Once Wolfram was ready, Yuuri removed his hand and settled into place. It took all of his strength to hold still when Wolfram winced. Yuuri consoled him with light kisses and solicitous caresses, stroking his hair, his cheeks, planting his lips against his forehead.

He kept things slow, languid, making sure his motions were carefully controlled so as to minimize Wolfram's pain. Unlike the last time, Wolfram's eyes remained open, dark and desirous, burning with a need that alleviated most of Yuuri's worries. The moans that worked their way out of Wolfram's throat spurred Yuuri on. Yuuri knelt before him, balancing above him as he grasped onto Wolfram's hips.

Beads of sweat trickled down the back of Yuuri's neck, and his muscles burned with the strain of holding himself back. Wolfram felt just as incredible as he had the first time. It was a great temptation to press in with abandon, and there were a few times that he moved grew harder than he'd planned, but somehow he always managed to calm down enough to prevent himself from going wild.

When Wolfram's legs wrapped around his waist, Yuuri felt himself slipping, and when Wolfram's moans grew more fervent, Yuuri gave up all pretense of control.

"More," Wolfram panted, his reddened mouth hanging open enticingly. Yuuri was only too happy to oblige and increased his efforts, and was rewarded by the already familiar sight of Wolfram's head lolling from side to side, the noises he made growing in pitch in-between whispers of "please, please."

As Yuuri had expected, Wolfram finished first, crying out as he arched off the bed, before groaning in frustration over the betrayal of his young body. Yuuri would have comforted him if he weren't so lost in what he was doing. Wolfram needn't have felt so bad about his inability to hold out this time, as Yuuri didn't last much longer, groaning his release around a mouthful of Wolfram's shoulder.

Succumbing to his body's exhaustion, Yuuri drooped over him, placing tender kisses to the side of Wolfram's neck. They remained tangled together, savoring the afterglow while they could, all too aware that come morning they would be required to return to their duties. Countless expectations would be imposed upon them once again, and their little bubble of peace would burst into nothing.

Grunting, Yuuri lifted himself up and pulled away from his husband, settling into a more comfortable position that he hoped would not result in Wolfram being crushed beneath his weight. Looking down, he saw that Wolfram's eyes were still hazy and unfocused, blinking slowly as his mouth formed a sluggish smile. Yuuri bent to press their lips together, his desires finally satiated.

"You're amazing," he said, rolling over onto his side and pushing himself up onto one elbow.

Wolfram turned to face him, flushed and disheveled in a way he never would have allowed himself to appear under any other circumstances. "What makes you say that?" he asked quietly.

Yuuri shook his head, cradling the side of his face with his palm. "You just are," he replied, moving his free hand to twirl a strand of golden hair around his index finger. "I guess that's pretty corny, though."

Wolfram neither agreed nor denied it, but continued to look at him warmly.

They'd left the radio playing in the sitting room, and a sedate melody drifted through the opened door of the bedroom. Yuuri considered getting up to turn it off, but wasn't in the mood to move quite yet. Wolfram didn't seem any more inclined to do so, releasing a sigh through his nose as he shifted closer to snuggle against his chest.

"Je t'aime, mon chéri," his husband said with a kiss over his heart, letting his eyes drift shut as fatigue began to settle in.

Yuuri laughed at Wolfram's use of French, and though he couldn't understand the words, he knew exactly what he was saying. Wolfram's feelings were clear in the tone of his voice. Even if he were to never say those words again, Yuuri would know in his heart that he was loved.

* * *

Merry was screaming. Yuuri sighed heavily as he slipped his arms into his shirtsleeves and began to do up the buttons, already missing the quiet, blissfully uninterrupted days he'd been able to spend with Wolfram on Earth. They'd just returned to the Great Demon Kingdom no more than ten minutes ago, and Merry had taken to their travels through water no better than he had during their trip the other way. His cries burst from his lungs and resonated through the room, as Wolfram and Lady Celi worked together to shush him.

Yuuri was happy to let them deal with the baby, and sent up a silent apology to Nastia and Karl for lacking the skills to be able to care for their son on his own. It was good that Wolfram was so intent on raising him properly, otherwise Yuuri was sure he would have had an even harder time adapting to the baby's presence in their lives. The smiling and laughing he could deal with; Merry was especially cute when he showed them his gummy grins. Yuuri didn't even mind playing with him, though he knew their interactions would grow to be much better once Merry was old enough for Yuuri to teach him baseball, but the crying frustrated him and scared him away, and Yuuri could only be thankful that Wolfram somehow managed to find more patience in these situations than he did.

Tucking his shirt into his black pants, Yuuri left the washroom - where he'd taken refuge as soon as Lady Celi had come to offer her assistance - and returned to the bedroom. Wolfram had already changed, the jeans and sweaters he'd worn on Earth replaced with a ruffled top, breeches and stockings. The young, casual appearance he'd portrayed during their vacation was already transitioning back to a more princely image, and though he looked divine in his black vest and short-pants, with his nicely shaped calves encased in silk hosiery and his youth further accentuated by the frills at the cuffs of his loose sleeves and the lacy jabot at his collar, Yuuri was going to miss how natural and adult-like Wolfram had looked in Earthen clothes.

Both Wolfram and Lady Celi were busy drying Merry off, patting at his damp, naked skin with a towel while Merry shook and flailed, eyes squeezed shut in his red face. Yuuri grabbed his black uniform jacket from where he'd slung it over the back of a chair after taking his clothes out of his wardrobe, pulling it on while he watched his husband and mother-in-law begin to dress the distraught baby.

"If we leave him here next time, we won't have to worry about carrying him through water," Yuuri pointed out after sliding each of the gold buttons through its respective hole.

Wolfram shook his head but didn't respond, gently guiding Merry's wildly swinging limbs into a simple child's gown, perhaps in the hopes that Merry's mood would improve if he were attired in something light and comfortable.

"Let me see him," Lady Celi said, taking Merry into her arms and rubbing at his little back. "There, there," she crooned, and Yuuri thought the way in which Lady Celi and his own mother handled Merry was largely similar. "Why don't we find you something sweet to eat, hmm?"

"I fed him just a little while before coming home," Wolfram told her. "He shouldn't be hungry."

"Maybe his stomach's upset," Yuuri suggested. "I didn't feel too well the first few times I traveled between worlds."

"No, no, he's just scared," Lady Celi informed them, leaving a lipstick mark on one of Merry's cheeks when she gave him a kiss. "Can't you tell?"

"No," Yuuri and Wolfram replied in unison, but Yuuri wasn't about to argue with a woman who'd had three sons, all who'd grown into rather skilled soldiers.

"It's alright now," Lady Celi continued to coo to the baby, bringing him with her to the door where she flagged down one of the maids and requested something brought from the kitchens.

"I'm back and I brought Alexei!" Greta announced, appearing in the doorway right before Lady Celi was about to close it, breathing a bit heavily after running through the halls, leading Alexei by the hand. The little boy peeked out from behind the skirt of Greta's dress, glancing around Yuuri and Wolfram's bedroom in fascination. "Can we open presents now?" Greta asked, escorting her adopted cousin in with her.

Yuuri smiled at his daughter and ushered her further into the room. "Sure, there's plenty for both of you. There's Christmas presents from Mom and Dad, and then Wolfram and I made sure to buy you guys something while we were in Boston and Paris."

The floor was covered by stacks of gaily wrapped parcels, some large and some small, some squared or rectangular, and some so oddly shaped it was impossible to tell what they were beneath the colorful paper. It had been a bit of a hassle bringing the presents with them from Earth, but somehow his mother had managed to fit them all into a group of large, plastic boxes to protect them from water damage, and Yuuri had made a quick trip through the pool to bring them over and have some of the guards take care of them before going back for Wolfram and Merry.

Purchasing souvenirs for their daughter had been an obvious requirement of their trip, especially as she'd made the decision not to join them on her own, but Yuuri and Wolfram had made sure to include their new nephew in their thoughts as well. Miko had been more than thrilled to help them, always happy to have someone else to shop for, so that the amount of presents could be evenly distributed between both Greta and Alexei without either one of them feeling left out.

Yuuri watched Alexei timidly approach the pile of presents, and felt odd thinking of Gwendal as the boy's father, when he'd never expected his Chief Adviser to settle down and have a family. Of course, Gwendal had attained guardianship over him without conforming to traditional means, and relied on Anissina to assist with his care as much as Yuuri and Wolfram had when adopting Greta. Even so, it was very surreal how quickly everything had happened, how much his family had already grown; Yuuri had just as difficult of a time thinking of himself as an uncle as he did seeing himself as a father.

"Alright, let's see what we have here," he began, using his memories of his own father as an example, and conducting the distribution of gifts as Shoma had during the Christmases of Yuuri's childhood.

Choosing presents for Greta had been a bit more difficult than it used to be when she'd been ten. Before, stuffed animals and bow ribbons had been enough to make her happy, and she'd exclaimed over the smallest, simplest things with childish enthusiasm. Now, at fourteen, she was swiftly evolving into a young woman, and her interests had changed. She could still be entertained by cute things, but a sense of femininity had been added to her previously tomboyish attitude, so that she now enjoyed pretty dresses and jewelry as one would expect from a princess.

Miko had been a great aid to them in finding things for her, as neither he nor Wolfram knew what it meant to be a girl, and while Yuuri thought his husband possessed a few more commonly feminine qualities than he did - at least in looking at him with the societal views of Earth - Wolfram had been a soldier for much of his life, and would probably always retain his soldier's perspective. What did either of them know outside of combat, politics, and baseball?

Greta ooh-ed and aah-ed over her gifts, clipping a sparkling pin into her hair and trying on a pair of heeled shoes. She showed a bottle of Parisian perfume to Lady Celi, who approved of the sophisticated scent and helped Greta apply it, before dabbing some on herself. Greta especially liked the diamond necklace Shori had splurged on for her, squealing in delight before having Yuuri help her clasp it into place.

"You have to let me get my ears pierced," she declared, "so I can get matching earrings!"

Yuuri thought that might be a bit too adult, but agreed to consider it. He was tackled by his daughter and squeezed in a tight hug, then released so that she could exert the same amount of affection onto Wolfram.

They'd all spread out on the floor, with torn paper and empty boxes scattered around. Yuuri continued to pass out the presents, while Wolfram sat by and watched, smiling at each of the reactions the gifts received. He'd taken Merry back from Lady Celi so his mother could examine the Earthen goods, and was busy feeding him from a little bowl of custard the maids had brought for a snack. Merry seemed to be enjoying the treat; his crying had ceased, and he opened his mouth expectantly for each spoonful, his eyes once again wide and bright.

While Greta exclaimed over her bounty, Yuuri scooted over to help Alexei unwrap one of his boxes. He was determined to have Alexei grow more comfortable with him, especially since his nephew was at the perfect age to begin teaching him the wonders of his favorite sport.

"This is called a bat," he said, wielding the plastic, child-sized toy, helping Alexei to his feet so that he could show him how to hold it. "Have you ever heard of baseball? Sometimes me and your Uncle Conrad play it. We've taught a lot of the village boys and girls how to play, too."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Alexei respectfully replied, small and shy as Yuuri adjusted his hands on the handle. "Conrart played catch with me last week."

"You don't have to call me 'Your Majesty,'" Yuuri told him, smiling kindly. "Go ahead and call me 'Uncle Yuuri.' I don't mind."

"U-Uncle Yuuri," the little boy stuttered.

Yuuri gave him a pat on the head. "That's better. Now, you hold the bat like this, and when the pitcher throws the ball, you try to hit it," he said, crouching behind him to teach him how to swing. "One day I'll take you down to the ball field and show you everything. We'll have to find a position for you to play. What do you think of being a catcher?"

"What's a catcher?"

"A catcher squats behind the batter, like this," he explained as he demonstrated. "If the batter doesn't hit the ball, then it's the catcher's job to catch it and throw it back to the pitcher. The catcher will also tell the pitcher what kinds of balls to throw, because some batters can hit certain kinds of balls better than others. The pitcher and the catcher don't want the batter to be able to hit it."

"Does the catcher ever get hit?" Alexei asked, wide eyed with interest and fear.

"Sometimes, but they wear a lot of padding to protect themselves. Remember when I went away before and I was wearing all that armor? It's kind of like that, and they'll have a helmet and a face mask, too, so even if they do get hit, it doesn't hurt so bad."

"Does Gwen play?"

Yuuri laughed at the question and shook his head. "No, Gwendal doesn't like to play a lot of games. I bet he could hit the ball really far, though."

"Gwen showed me how to play a board game," Alexei revealed, looking quite pleased with the memory.

"Did he?"

Alexei nodded excitedly. "And I won!"

"You'll have to show me sometime. I'm not very good at board games."

"Does Wol-" Alexei paused, sparing a shy glance over at Wolfram before lowering his voice and starting again. "Does His Majesty play baseball, too?"

"You can call him 'Uncle Wolfram,' too, you know," Yuuri said, smiling encouragingly. "But no, he doesn't play. He hasn't ever really liked it, probably because he doesn't like to get dirty," Yuuri told him in a conspiring whisper that had Alexei giggling softly. "Conrad likes to be the pitcher, though, and sometimes Yozak will play with us. Have you met Yozak yet?"

Alexei nodded again. "We played Save the Princess."

"What's 'Save the Princess?'"

"Mister Yozak dressed up like a princess and I had to save him from a dragon! Conrart let me use a wooden sword, and I pretended to use magic like Gwen!"

"Is that so?" Fortunately, Yuuri had no trouble whatsoever imaging Yozak dressed as a princess. "Here, let me show you something else," he said, taking the toy bat back to be able to set it aside and pulling another present over for them to be able to unwrap together.

"What is it?"

"This is a remote control car," he explained as he opened the box. "A car is something people travel in on Earth. Kind of like a horseless carriage. They're really big, so this one is just a toy, but if you put these little batteries inside of it, you can use this controller to make it move."

He put it together for him, using a screw driver he'd stolen from home to remove the back panel and slide the batteries into place, then returned the panel to keep them from falling out. He tested it out first, moving the tiny joysticks to send the car forward and back, watching Alexei's eyes widen in wonder.

"See? It moves," he said, then held out the controller for him. "Do you want to try?"

Alexei looked from him to the car, before taking the controller from him and examining it in curiosity. He pressed the buttons cautiously, gasping when it moved again. It zoomed beneath the bed and came out the other side, before skidding to a halt when Alexei let go of the button. He walked over to the miniature vehicle, taking the controller with him, performing the correct operation to send it backward, jumping out of the way before it could run over his feet.

Much of the next hour was spent opening the rest of the presents and playing with new toys. Yuuri had to explain a lot of it to Alexei, but he was pleased that with each unwrapped gift, the Demon child spoke to him easier, and began to look at him without the spark of apprehension in his eyes.

When they were finished, Yuuri called in a few of the maids to begin cleaning up, helping them collect the torn paper and empty boxes, but allowing them to dispose of the mess as they saw fit. At least an hour had passed since their journey home, and so far things had gone smoothly. It felt like a continuation of Christmas; there were smiles and laughter all around. The atmosphere was definitely much lighter than it had been when he and Wolfram had left.

Eventually, however, he knew he must return to his work, and when Greta had settled down to talk with Wolfram and her grandmother, and Alexei was entertaining himself with his toys, Yuuri stood to his feet and crossed the room to make his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Wolfram asked, looking up from his place on the floor.

"To see Gwendal," he replied, pausing by his husband to lean down and quickly kiss his forehead. "You can come if you want."

Wolfram seemed to consider it, but shook his head after glancing to his shoulder, where he held Merry, fast asleep. "I think I'll stay with the children for a little longer."

"Are you sure?"

After the argument they'd had on Earth, and the knowledge he'd gained that Wolfram somehow thought that Yuuri didn't see him as his equal, the last thing Yuuri wanted to do was purposefully leave him out of anything pertaining to the kingdom.

"I can wait until you feel like heading to the office," he offered. "We can go together."

"No, it's fine," Wolfram said with a warm smile. "You can tell me when you get back."

Yuuri hesitated, considering the idea that Wolfram might change his mind later and grow angry with him for not advocating their co-rule in a more adept manner. He certainly wouldn't be surprised if his husband's mood changed that quickly, especially now that they were home, and the stress would quickly begin piling back on.

When he looked at his husband, however, and saw how comfortable he appeared sitting with his mother and adopted children, Yuuri decided not to push the subject any further. The scene was much more domestic than he'd ever thought Wolfram would willingly take part in, much less enjoy, but he could see in his eyes that Wolfram was happy right where he was. He glowed in a way Yuuri saw only in his most contented moments, and he would have been a fool to try and ruin it.

"I won't be long," he promised, leaning down to kiss his forehead again, ignoring the quiet giggle from Lady Celi. "The paperwork can wait until tomorrow morning. I just want to make sure Gwendal doesn't have anything important to tell me."

Wolfram nodded his agreement, and after saying his momentary farewells to Greta with a kiss to her cheek, Yuuri was out the door.

He strolled casually down the halls, prepared for the work to come but in no hurry to make it to his office. The guards seemed happy that he'd returned, and paid their respects as they always did, prompting him to stop and speak with a few of them before continuing on his way. The maids reacted similarly, pausing with their baskets of laundry to dip a curtsy, giggling behind their hands and feather dusters, then whispering to one another once he'd passed.

Yuuri didn't mind. It was all habitual to him now, the rumors, the speculation, concerning both his private and public life. Hearing it again and seeing the joy his subjects carried with them as they shamelessly gossiped about their young king reminded him of the first few years of his reign, when things had been marginally easier, and the world had been a much more peaceful place than it was now.

Arriving at his office, he didn't pause to knock on the door, but grabbed the handle to make his way in without announcing himself. He could hear muffled voices from inside and knew his advisers were tirelessly working, and thought they must already know he'd returned, as news tended to travel fast within the castle. He smiled when he opened the door, perfectly aware that in doing so he was bringing an official end to his period of reprieve.

The room grew quiet when he entered, but not the tense, oppressive silence that had greeted him once before, when he'd returned to learn that his country had been sent to war without his approval. Murata sat behind the desk, filling the role of Regent while Yuuri had been away, with Gwendal, Conrad, and Gunter surrounding him. The desk was covered in papers, stacks of documents that needed to be signed, scrolls of reports from the border, maps of the kingdom, their enemies and allies. The amount of paper was more than Yuuri had expected, as if his advisers had done battle with the paperwork in his absence and come out a bit worse for wear.

"Hey, guys," he greeted them with a cheerful smile, looking around at the mess that awaited his attention. "Looks like you've been busy."

Gunter was the first to react, shouting with joy and attaching himself to Yuuri without warning, an action that was so common, and yet so infrequent during these last few months that Yuuri was almost overwhelmed by the emotions he experienced in its familiarity. He returned the hug lightly, patting his tutor's back as the breath was nearly squeezed out of him. Gunter could give his mother a run for her money when it came to the force of his hugs.

"Your Majesty!" he crowed, before his speech was overcome with uncontrollable babbling and sobs of joy.

Yuuri let him cling for as long as he wanted, no longer feeling the need to extricate himself from Gunter's grasping clutches as quickly as possible. He smiled at the rest of his friends, and when his tutor finally released him with a sniff and watery eyes, Yuuri moved to say his 'hello's. He gave a quick hug to Conrad, who patted his shoulder and gazed at him with pride, then lifted his hand to share a high-five with Murata over the desk. He didn't take his spot behind it right away and let his Earthen friend remain where he was, turning his attention to his severe Chief Adviser.

"You look well," Gwendal observed in his customary brusque manner, looking as reserved as always.

"I feel great," Yuuri said, and to further prove his mental stability, he reached out for a few of the documents scattered around, and lifted them up to quickly read. "So we've liberated some of our villages then?"

"All of them," Gwendal corrected him.

"Really?"

"Yes. Adalbert has been highly successful in driving back the armies of Big Cimaron. Lady von Grantz was forced to agree that your appointment of him has lead to the desired results."

"She actually said that?"

"Not in so many words," Murata replied, seeming rather amused. "But we chose to take her comments in a more positive light."

"What did she really say?"

"Only that in choosing between Lord von Grantz returning as general and the King vacationing in the middle of a war, she would be more inclined to accept her brother than a king who… what was it she said?"

"Continuously neglects his duties," Gwendal finished for him.

"Yes, that sounds about right."

"Oh…" Yuuri said, setting the papers back down, and looking at his advisers in confusion, not understanding why none of them seemed especially concerned by the comments made by one of the Aristocrats. "And why don't either of you seem very worried about that?"

"Because I politely informed her that it was our idea," Murata explained, casually shrugging.

"And that was it?"

"Well, no, seeing as she then went on to scream that she could perform our jobs better than we can, but for the most part we chose to tune her out."

"If your vacation has aided in your recovery, then it will serve as a benefit to the kingdom," Gwendal added. "Marlena's opinions be damned."

"I see." Yuuri's smile shrank into a smirk than could have rivaled one of Wolfram's. "It's good that we're having so much success against Big Cimaron, though. Have we managed to secure the border?"

"Not as well as we would like," Conrad answered him, "but our defenses are improving by the day."

"What about Isidore?"

"Lord von Mannheim is having more difficulties on the other front, but it is as we expected," Gwendal replied. "Isidore is, after all, a larger force, and they are not currently being faced with the same sorts of problems hampering Big Cimaron's military policies."

"What's wrong in Big Cimaron?"

"It appears King Belar has fallen seriously ill," Gunter informed him, and the news sparked Yuuri's interest in a way it never would have four years ago, before he'd known what it meant to be a king.

"Who's running the country then?"

"The nobility loyal to Belar refuse to accept any authority above that of the king," Gwendal said, "but our reports suggest that Belar is in no state to be issuing orders." He handed Yuuri a few more sheaves of parchment and waited for him to read them before continuing. "There are others, however, backing one of Belar's sons. If Belar should die, the throne will pass to Varick."

"And what would that mean for us?"

"Varick is Belar's second son. His eldest was killed soon before you assumed the throne. Unlike his father, Varick is said to be more scholarly and less martial, which could mean that his father's campaigns are ended as soon as he takes the crown."

"So everything's pretty unstable right now," Yuuri thought out loud, carefully pondering the information. "It could go either way, depending on what Varick thinks will be best for his country when he takes over."

"We are hopeful that he will cease all military operations until he has managed to consolidate his power," Gunter said. "It would be difficult for him to accomplish anything without the support of his nobles, most of which have greatly revered his father and may not approve of any drastic changes in policy."

"And this is why Adalbert's had such an easy time?"

"Partially," Conrad agreed, "but there remains the fact that he was always a superb military leader."

Yuuri nodded. He hadn't seen Adalbert in action as much as the others, but he knew that Adalbert's skills ranked almost as high as Gunter's and Conrad's. He and Yozak had been evenly matched during the tournament in Big Cimaron, and he was sure a victory between either he or Gwendal would be hard won.

"Have any of the other Aristocrats been causing any problems?" he asked. Out of all that waited for him, the Aristocrats were the problem he wanted to deal with least.

"Only the usual," Murata said. "Grantz, Yale, Hassel and Bielefeld."

"Lord von Bielefeld has posed the suggestion that Your Majesty look into acquiring a divorce," Gunter revealed, broaching the subject carefully, gazing at him with a watchful eye.

"On what grounds?"

"The proposal was based on his opinion that Wolfram has not been conducting himself appropriately as Prince Consort," Gwendal elaborated. "It appears many of them continue to feel threatened by his position."

"If that's the case, then they shouldn't have agreed to the wedding in the first place," Yuuri said, sighing heavily, before dropping the papers Gwendal had given him back onto the desk. "I'll write to them personally tomorrow. I don't plan on letting Wolfram do anything to them as long as they don't give me any reason to."

"What will you tell them if they bring up the possibility of a divorce?" Gunter inquired.

"That they were the ones who pressured us into it."

"They _can_ make a case on the grounds of non-consummation," Murata pointed out, his dark eyes disappearing behind the glare of his glasses.

Yuuri laughed. He hadn't meant to, but at a comment like that he couldn't help himself. It was more amusing than it probably should have been, considering just a week ago the Aristocrats would have been able to make a very strong case for an annulment. Little did they know, their excuses were no longer applicable, and any argument they made to the contrary would be countermanded.

Gwendal hardly looked amused, frowning in such a way that Yuuri knew he expected him to take this turn of events very seriously, while Gunter gazed at him in confusion and Murata quirked a brow in intrigue. Yuuri grinned at his friend but said nothing about it, turning to see Conrad smiling at him in his usual gentle fashion.

"If you guys don't mind taking care of things for one more day, I'll get back to work first thing in the morning," Yuuri said once he'd managed to regain control of himself.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Gunter agreed. "Whatever you wish. If anything else arises that requires your attention, we will naturally see that you are duly informed."

Yuuri nodded his thanks. "Go ahead and let the Aristocrats know that I'm back, but that I won't be speaking with anyone until tomorrow afternoon. And if there's any more news about Belar, I want to know straight away. I don't care what time it is. You have permission to wake me if I'm sleeping."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He made his way to the door, feeling more at ease in his office than he had before he'd left. Things were still not as well as he would like them to be, but the situation was slowly improving. If they could just keep their borders strong and find some way to deal with Isidore, then hopefully conditions would become more positive.

Yuuri paused with the door open as a mischievous thought suddenly came to mind; Wolfram probably wouldn't like it, but their family and their subjects were going to have to find out at some point. He glanced to the side to see the guards standing at attention, and spied a lone maid changing out the candles in one of the sconces on the wall. After clearing his throat to make sure he had the attention of all those in earshot, he turned to look in on his friends and advisers again, feeling an uncharacteristically sly smile creep onto his face.

"There is one more thing," he said.

"What is it, Your Majesty?" Gunter was quick to ask, appearing ready to see to anything that he might require.

"Oh, it's nothing too important," he replied easily, keeping his voice light and casual. "Just that if the Aristocrats are really so worried about me not consummating my marriage, you can tell them it's not longer an issue."

"W-Why is that, Your Majesty?" Gunter gaped at him, his face turning a very light shade of pink, perhaps remembering the awkward confrontation they'd shared at the medical station.

Yuuri did his best not to be affected by the memory himself, and could only thank Gwendal's utterly scandalized expression for providing him with just the right amount of amusement. "I'm sure you guys can figure it out," he said.

He shut the door before either of them could say anything else, catching Conrad's perceptive smile and returning it with a quick nod, then pausing to listen to the reactions from within once the door had been closed. Gunter's miserable wail was clear even through the stone walls and thick wood, and Yuuri could only chuckle as he imagined the spectacle his tutor must be making with the knowledge that his favored pupil was no longer as innocent as he would have preferred.

When he looked at the guards again, he saw that they appeared to be struggling to keep their composure, and the maid had bent to retrieve one of the candles she'd dropped in her surprise. Yuuri smiled when he passed her and watched her face grow red, before she shifted her eyes away to keep from staring.

Yuuri whistled to himself as he went back down the hall, feeling quite proud in his accomplishment and wondering just how long it was going to take the rest of the castle to find out.

He was sure the maids were going to be carefully examining his and Wolfram's sheets the following morning.

* * *

The wind howled outside, whipping through the stark tree branches and carrying the snow into drifts against the side of the castle. The curtains had been drawn over the windows, concealing the storm currently ravaging the world, but one need not look to know that an unrelenting tempest was on its way through the kingdom. The storm shrieked and billowed, covering the earth with arctic ice and bitter snows. There seemed to be no end to it; the poor weather that had begun with the onset of winter had continued into the first few weeks of the new year.

It was not a good sign.

Wood crackled and spit with the fire that burned it, lighting the hearth and fighting the chill of the room with pervasive warmth. The room was dim but for the fire, and the candles that littered each surface, spreading soft, flickering yellow light along the walls, obscuring the rich tapestries in shadow and leaving the far corners of the room to darkness. The bed sheets had already been turned down, with a warming pan slipped carefully between them, but the mattress remained devoid of the appropriate body.

The figure in question sat in an elegant, high backed chair, wooden arms polished until they gleamed. He lounged by the fire in nothing more than a dressing gown, majestic purple silk tied at the waist by a decorative sash. It hung loosely on his large frame, falling open in the front to reveal parts of his strong chest, pale skin over hard muscle. A broad hand grasped a crystal goblet, half-filled with scarlet wine. He sipped at it slowly, rolling the liquid in his mouth to savor its taste before swallowing.

Pale blue eyes focused on the canvas suspended on one of the walls, observing the painted likeness of the young man whose alluring reputation left him enthralled. A regal aura, a powerful gaze, and beauty beyond compare stared back at him in tones of green, yellow, and white, dressed like a doll in velvet and lace - so young, so beguiling.

There was something about youth that intrigued him, perhaps because he could already feel his slipping away from him before he'd even been able to attain glory. The demon tride, on the other hand, were known for their long lives, for their unnatural ability to retain their youth for hundreds of years, and it was this boy - this prince - who prevailed as the supreme specimen of innocence and grace. From the moment he'd been presented with the portrait, this most precious gift of art, he'd yearned to possess its subject, to caress his round face, slide his fingers into those golden curls, and view the fledgling body still striving to attain maturity.

It wasn't enough, to sit, to stare, to fantasize, but not to know. He wanted to see those green eyes in person, watch them change with his emotions, burn with fury, darken with passion, sparkle with adolescent life. He wanted to hear his voice, perchance unbroken, still light and pure and clear of the deep rumble so often acquired by grown men. He wanted to feel the strong beat of his fluttering heart beneath his hands, stroke those long, elegant limbs, and gaze unhindered at the still un-violated region where he hoped to take his pleasure.

A knock sounded against the closed door, soft but firm, and though he spoke to admit entrance, he did not take his eyes away from the portrait. "Come."

The door creaked as it opened, then clicked back into place once it shut again. The heels of boots clicked on the stone floor before meeting one of the plush rugs, which softened the footfalls so that they were nearly unheard. A slighter figure came before him, obstructing his view for only a moment, before knees bent to kneel and a head of ash brown hair bowed to him devotedly.

"Louis," he said, taking another swig of wine, before reaching out his fingers to grasp the boy's chin and force him to look up at him.

"Your Majesty," his attendant returned, expression as perfectly controlled as if it had been sculpted from ice.

"You are late," he observed, flicking a piece of hair out of Louis' eyes, green like those in the portrait, but not nearly as vibrant.

"My apologies. I had hoped to be here sooner, but there were matters of the utmost importance that needed to be attended to."

"Are not the King's desires matters of the utmost importance?"

"Yes, of course," Louis dutifully agreed. "I thought perhaps Your Majesty would use the opportunity of my absence to visit your wife."

He laughed coldly, grasping his chin more firmly and running a thumb over Louis' lips. "My wife can never hope to please me. I simply married her to satisfy my councilors. I assure you that she and I are both happier apart."

"I am now one of Your Majesty's councilors," Louis reminded him, bravely gazing into his eyes. "And the Queen is becoming suspicious. Since you created me a Duke, you have not been as cautious in concealing our exchanges as you were before."

"Are you lecturing me, Louis?" he asked, feeling a tremor of amusement.

"No, Your Majesty, I would never think to lecture you, but you must be aware that there is great concern in the kingdom for your lack of an heir. There are already whispers among the nobility. They think you incapable."

He laughed again, releasing Louis' chin with a savage motion, though the teen never once faltered. "What say you to that? Am I incapable?"

"I know that Your Majesty is not, but the rest of your court is not as fortunate as I am. They have not had the honor of testing Your Majesty's capabilities."

"Do not think that you are the only one at court that I have bedded," he warned him.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Louis easily acquiesced, bowing his head again and lowering his eyes to the floor.

He considered Louis carefully, finishing the rest of his wine before setting his goblet aside. "You may stand," he said, watching Louis obediently rise to his feet. "Are you not jealous?"

"What reason have I to be jealous when I am the recipient of Your Majesty's kindness?"

"Would it not displease you to have my attention fixed elsewhere?"

"My only concern is Your Majesty's happiness. If I can bring you peace, then I am content, and if you find that peace in others, then I will assist you in acquiring all of your desires."

"You know what it is that I desire," he said, able to see his beloved portrait over Louis' shoulder.

Louis stood still in front of him and didn't respond to his statement, his lips drawn into stiff line, his back rigid and his arms hanging limply by his sides. Blue eyes swept over his frame appreciatively, but not without awareness or understanding, and he met his lowered gaze expectantly.

"You have something for me," he observed.

Louis' head inclined in a nod before he lifted a hand to search one of his pockets. "This arrived for you an hour ago," he said, showing him a small bit of folded parchment. "I cannot find a name, but there is this on the back."

The letter was flipped so that he may see the wax seal, pressed with the crest of an eagle with its wings displayed. He knew it immediately, and took the letter from Louis to break the seal and spread it open. The written words were neat but rushed, as if his informant had not had much time with which to send his information.

'_Since I know it would please Your Majesty to be in possession of the jewel of our kingdom, I write to you of this in all due haste. The Demon King has returned, and the Prince Consort continues to remain faithfully at his side. Furthermore, I have heard under good authority that the validity of their marriage can no longer be questioned._

_Signed,_

_A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing'_

He pondered the letter for a few moments, though there was no way for him to mistake its meaning. His sources had informed him of the Demon King's winter sojourn, as well as the continuously rocky relations between the King and his new husband. It had been a source of amusement to him that such a seemingly strong, virile man had been unable to consummate his marriage with such a prize of beauty, but it seemed he need not concern himself with such thoughts any longer.

It was a pity, really. After Ilyich's failure he'd thought to deflower the youth himself, show him how a real man performed in bed; indeed, it had been the subject of many a dream since his former adviser had been disposed of. It appeared as if the Demon King had finally worked up the nerve, or perhaps realized what he'd had at his beck and call all along. No man would be able to live in such close proximity to something so exquisite and not eventually claim it as his own.

"Louis," he said, looking from the letter to his young courtier.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"I wish to dictate a message."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Louis agreed, bowing lowly before taking his place at a nearby desk. He gathered the necessary supplies, setting a sheet of parchment in front of him, then dipped his quill into a bottle of ink and waited for his instructions.

Icy blue eyes glittered as he returned his focus to the portrait and began to recite, "'To His Majesty Yuuri of the Great Demon Kingdom…'"

* * *

Wolfram was perched upon a luxurious settee, with his legs primly crossed and his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He kept a careful watch on his posture, never letting it slip, making sure his back was properly aligned and his head was held at just the right height to command authority and respect. At the same time, he intended to appear benevolent and approachable, blending his presumptuousness with the generosity he'd learned from his husband.

He sat in one of the castle's comfortable drawing rooms, with plastered walls painted an inviting cream, and crystal chandeliers sparkling overhead. He rather enjoyed the way the light furnishings caused his dark clothing to further stand out. After having felt so uncomfortable in his black wedding attire, he had grown to appreciate what wearing the royal color did for his appearance. He was no longer a Bielefeld soldier, but a young man fit to be the spouse of a king.

He'd spread a blanket out on the floor some distance away, close enough for him to quickly approach if need be, but far enough to offer a bit of an audible respite, and a safe distance from the fireplace as well. Merry lied comfortably in the middle of it, delighting himself with toys that squeaked and rattled, his babbling quieted for the moment by one of the pacifiers he and Yuuri had been sure to bring back with them from Earth. Wolfram had dressed him in black for the occasion, but Merry hardly seemed to notice the formal clothes; he drooled on them regardless.

On the couch across from him, sitting just as primly, was Lady Elise von Mannheim, the daughter of Lord Julius, and therefore no one he was inclined to immediately trust. She was at least dressed conservatively, in a simple gown of carmine with only a single broach as jewelry, attached to a matching cap situated atop her brown hair. She looked at him with equal parts pride and dignity, though he couldn't help but think her expression bordered on arrogance. She wasn't quite so offensive as her father's heady glares, but her very presence had his defenses raised.

"Yuuri informed me that he received a message from your father, stating that you were interested in the position of governess to our new son Merry," Wolfram began, attempting to sound less confrontational than he would have on other occasions.

"Father has encouraged me to assist His Majesty in areas that I am proficient," Elise replied, "and though I have no children of my own, I've often served as governess to some of my younger relatives."

"What age range have you worked with?"

"Ten to fifty years."

"So you've never handled infants?"

"No, Your Majesty, not for prolonged periods."

Wolfram looked her over severely, sparing a quick glimpse in Merry's direction to make sure he hadn't managed to get himself into any trouble, and upon seeing him innocently gumming one of his stuffed animals, he turned back to the woman in front of him. He knew he must be frowning, but could hardly attempt to smooth out his expression. Even after only the first initial questions, he didn't believe Elise was suitable for the job, but he was wary of denying her the position when he was already in such a precarious situation with her father and the rest of the Aristocrats.

"Your father does not like me," he finally said, broaching the subject that was causing such a tense aura to build between them.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I do not know very many people who do," she replied indifferently, if not a bit insultingly, and Wolfram felt his hackles rising. "In any case, you cannot blame Father for his animosity when the world knows what Captain von Bielefeld did to my brother in Bastille."

Wolfram did not allow himself to react too noticeably to the comment. "I am not my father," he countered.

"Nor am I mine."

He let an uncomfortable silence descend upon them, broken only by Merry's babbling as he viciously shook his stuffed animal, his mouth empty of both toy and pacifier. Wolfram refused to break his gaze with Elise first, and was pleased when she was the one to demurely lower her eyes. Being Prince Consort did have its perks; unlike when he'd been a petty nobleman, the rest of the aristocracy were honor-bound to treat him with respect, whether they genuinely held it toward him or not.

"I will be sure to let you know of my decision whenever I make it," he spoke again, when he felt he could do so without sounding overly critical. "You are free to go."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Lady Elise responded, standing to her feet before lowering into a quick curtsy. She met his eyes only once more before turning to leave, and she didn't look as if she expected much from him.

He watched her go, then sighed once she'd disappeared, allowing himself to relax only slightly. He'd been conducting similar interviews all morning, and Elise von Mannheim was only the most recent in a long string of women he felt were completely incapable of caring for and nurturing his newly adopted son. Where some lacked the necessary experience, others did not possess the desired attitude. Merry was going to have a difficult time adapting to the change no matter who he chose, but he hoped that with the right person, the transition would be made easier for him.

Pausing briefly in his endeavor, Wolfram stood from his seat to approach Merry's blanket, bending down to scoop the baby into his arms. Merry squealed and showed him a wide, toothless grin, soft little hands immediately clinging to the front of his jacket, one of them grasping the decorative, golden cord at his shoulder. Wolfram smiled back at him and brushed at his hair, then kissed his forehead affectionately.

"Why did I think this was going to be easy?" he asked aloud, though he didn't expect Merry to answer him. "If Yuuri and I weren't who we are, we'd spend all of our time with you, as we should."

"Mmmaaaa-mmmm," Merry cooed, failing to understand the meaning of these short conferences.

Wolfram shook his head. He did dread the day when he would turn Merry over to his governess; part of him was going to miss being with the baby for most of the day. Naturally, he would still make sure to spend time with him, but Merry's presence would soon be minimized as he once again joined Yuuri in the office to see to matters of the kingdom, leaving the domestic chores to others he hoped would be more capable of accomplishing them.

He hated that their duties would prevent he and Yuuri from being the sort of parents he'd always wanted for himself. He'd had his own slew of nannies from the day he'd been born to the time he'd been placed in the charge of a commanding officer. No matter how kind they'd been or what sorts of things they'd let him get away with, the only person Wolfram had ever wanted had been his mother, and he felt a sense of sorrow at the thought that Merry would probably be the same way. Merry had grown so attached to him already, and Wolfram had to admit that the attachment was reciprocated.

It frightened him to think that if he had the choice, if his duty to the kingdom weren't so imperative, he would spend his every day with his children. All his life he'd wanted nothing more that to be a soldier, to follow in his brothers' footsteps, to serve his king and country. Until Merry had come along, he'd been content to do just that; he hadn't wanted the added responsibility of being second to the king, but he was determined now to make the most of it. Yet somehow this tiny person was making him regret that, and he often thought about how much more fulfilling his life would be if he could stay with Merry and experience all the things he'd missed out on with Greta.

"You've made me grow soft," he said, taking Merry with him as he returned to the settee. "Two months with you and I'd rather be a mother than a soldier."

He didn't approve of Merry referring to him as 'Mama' and still intended to help him grow out of it, but he thought that was what he'd become recently, and for some reason that failed to irritate him they way it should. It was preferable to being insulted by the Aristocrats, or stressing over which direction to steer the country in. At least with Merry he knew where he stood; he was wanted and needed, and loved unconditionally.

"Let's see one more person and then stop for today," he proposed, already beginning to grow weary of his search. "We can always try again tomorrow. If we hurry, we can catch Greta in time for an afternoon snack. She should be having a break from her studies soon."

Merry responded with another coo, bringing his hands up to touch Wolfram's face.

Wolfram kissed both of his baby soft palms before adjusting him in his lap, straightening both of their clothing to make sure they looked presentable enough, before looking toward the door. "Doria," he called to the maid standing on the other side, "you may send the next lady in, please, but that'll be all for this afternoon."

He waited patiently, bouncing Merry in his lap when the baby began to fidget restlessly, shushing him quietly when it looked as if he were about to start fussing. He stood with a sigh, caring Merry over to his blanket of toys, retrieving his pacifier from wherever he'd spit it out before. He had just set the baby back down among a sea of stuffed animals when the door opened to admit the latest hopeful nanny.

He composed himself quickly, attempting to brush away the wrinkles in his jacket as he turned to greet her. His efforts were mostly wasted, as the woman who came in was too busy fixing her own clothing and that of the child with her to worry about Wolfram's appearance.

She was older than himself, perhaps in her early one-hundreds, but not as well assembled as he or Elise von Mannheim. She wore a simple dress and no jewelry; her blond hair was pulled on top of her head, but strands of it fell into her face in what should have been an unruly manner but somehow managed to look flattering, if one enjoyed a more common, country-like appearance. She rushed in as if she'd been in a hurry to get there, and paused once she entered to catch her breath. When she noticed him standing there, her slate colored eyes widened and she bent in a deep bow, before remembering herself and switching to a curtsy.

"Your Excellency," she said, her face reddening as realization quickly dawned on her. "I'm so sorry! Your Majesty!" she corrected herself, curtsying a second time to make up for it.

Unlike all the others, she was not alone, and Wolfram took a few moments to study the child as well. She was still quite young, old enough to walk but around the age where one could still get away with calling her a baby. Her clothes were a bit over-worn, and not as clean as Wolfram would have liked, her skirt frayed along the hem and patched in places, and her shoes were scuffed. Her blond hair was windblown, her cheeks were red, her nose was running, and her stockings looked wet, as if she'd just come in from playing in the snow.

Wolfram turned his gaze back to the woman and did his best to prevent his expression from appearing too displeased. "And you are…?"

"Katherine Algren, Your Majesty, and my daughter Brigitta. Brigitta, won't you pay your respects to His Majesty like a taught you?"

She ushered the little girl forward, and watched with obvious pride as Brigitta stumbled into a clumsily executed curtsy. Wolfram didn't know whether to smile fondly at the sight or laugh derisively at the poor attempt, and settled with keeping as straight a face as possible.

"Why don't you sit down?" Wolfram suggested, motioning toward the couches with a sweep of his arm.

Katherine nodded and took her daughter's hand to lead her in that direction, but Brigitta stopped and tugged on the appendage forcing her to advance when her brown eyes caught on Merry. "A baby, Mama," she announced, pointing down at him.

"That must be Prince Merriel," the young woman proclaimed, helping her daughter onto the couch once they arrived. "Isn't he lovely?"

Wolfram continued to watch them, feeling an odd mixture of discomfort and intrigue. On the one hand, Katherine's plebian-like character clashed with his cultured upbringing and stirred up a sense of distaste for the poor quality of her clothing and her ostensible ignorance; on the other, her obvious experience with children and her kind, gentle behavior toward her own daughter was far different from the stiff attitudes he'd encountered among many of the women he'd already interviewed.

After making sure Merry was comfortable, Wolfram moved back to the sitting area and took his place on the settee, returning to his former position with his legs crossed and his hands lightly folded. Brigitta looked around the room with interest, swinging her skinny legs back and forth on the sofa as she tipped her head back to stare at the chandelier directly above them. Katherine brushed off her skirt and dug out a handkerchief to wipe at her daughter's nose, then smiled at Wolfram across the coffee table. She seemed both excited and nervous - enthusiastic, but also quite jittery.

"If I remember correctly, you were recommended by my mother," Wolfram launched into the conversation with as much grace as he could manage.

"Yes, Your Majesty. She was kind enough to write me a letter asking if I would be interested in the position."

"How is it that you know my mother?" he asked, looking her over again and deciding that she was by no means the high-class socialite his mother usually conferred with.

"Through your father, of course."

Try as he might, Wolfram could not disguise his sudden confusion. "My father?" he wondered, failing to see how that was supposed to be obvious.

"Yes," she replied, a bit slowly now that she seemed to realize they were not on the same track. "My father has been first-mate to your father for the last fifty years. They went through the naval academy together."

Awareness came swiftly, and Wolfram frowned, thinking of his father and wondering if his mother had been the one to make this recommendation after all; she could have easily done it on his behalf. Wolfram trusted his mother's opinion, seeing as she'd gone through the process of hiring of a nanny many times before, and so he hadn't questioned her when she'd given him a small list of potential governesses to interview. He'd welcomed his mother's assistance, but if she was somehow conspiring with his father, he would be less inclined to accept her assistance in the future.

"I see," he said, giving this revelation some serious thought.

Katherine looked at him warily. "Is that a problem, Your Majesty?"

Snapping back into focus, Wolfram shook his head. "Not if you can tell me what my father thinks he's doing by interfering in my affairs."

"But… I haven't heard from your father," she said, adopting his confusion as her own. "Your mother was the one who wrote me-"

"And she only knows of you because of my father, which means he must have said something to her when he heard that I was looking for a nanny."

Katherine had nothing to say in response to that, and could only shift uncomfortably in her seat.

Brigitta was still busy looking around the room, and slid off the couch to examine the tray of light snacks in the center of the coffee table. "I have a cookie?" she asked, looking up at her mother for permission.

"You can't have one without asking Prince Wolfram. You must be very polite. Remember your manners."

"Where is Prince Wolfram?" Brigitta wondered with her head cocked to the side, speaking in a sweet little voice that reminded Wolfram of a baby bird.

Katherine's face reddened again, abashed by Brigitta's innocent questioning in such an uncomfortable circumstance. "This is Prince Wolfram," she said. "He's married to the King, which means he's very important and we must be very respectful to him."

Wolfram was then the subject of Brigitta's focus, as her head turned and her large, doe brown eyes looked at him in excitement. She bounced on her feet, before toddling around the table out of her mother's reach, grasping onto Wolfram's pant leg to steady herself.

"Hi, pretty prince," she greeted him while her mother lifted her hands to her face in mortification. "I have a cookie, please?"

Before he'd become a parent, Wolfram would have been immensely dissatisfied by this child's overly familiar behavior. Even children, whether they were noble or common, were expected to know their place. However, something in his attitude must have changed since adopting Greta, because he found himself smiling at Brigitta instead of firmly but kindly reminding her that she was not to touch him.

"You may have a cookie," he agreed, taking one off the tray to hand it to her. "But only one. You mustn't ruin your appetite."

She beamed at him as she took the treat, showing him a set of perfect baby teeth. "Thank you!" she practically sang, then surprised them again by climbing up to join him on the settee.

Katherine gaped at her daughter's innocent behavior, her face draining of its red flush to leave her looking ghostly white. "Y-Your Majesty," she stammered. "I… I apologize."

"There's no need," he said without thinking, not feeling very comfortable himself, but seeing no reason to punish Brigitta for her forwardness. "Have you served as governess before?" he asked, returning to his questions in the hopes of settling the tense mood.

"Yes," she replied after swallowing heavily. "I was the governess to the three Ostberg children for twenty years. I even served as a wet nurse for a time when Brigitta was born."

"Do you not find it difficult to care for other children while raising your own daughter?"

"Oh, no, Your Majesty. I've had her with me since she was born. There's never been any problems. She's very sweet and playful. She loves meeting other children, and she would treat Prince Merriel very well."

Wolfram paused, seeing no need to consult her about what ages she'd worked with when it was obvious she'd handled at least one infant before. "Is your husband aware that you're interested in this position?" he inquired. He was cautious about romantic attachments, since he knew how they tended to complicate matters.

"I'm not married," Katherine told him unreservedly, and without shame. "I bore Brigitta out of wedlock. Her father…" she paused to think of an appropriate explanation. "Well, he preferred not to be saddled down with a child."

Wolfram almost snorted, remembering his own father. "Funny how commonly men seem to skirt their responsibilities," he observed bitterly, glancing at the little girl next to him as she ate her cookie with the carelessness and naiveté of the young.

"Your Majesty?" the woman questioned his comment, uncertain.

He didn't elaborate, choosing to continue with the interview instead. "How do you tend to discipline your charges?"

"Not too harshly, Your Majesty. They're only children."

"Do you spank them?"

"No, not if it can be avoided. Usually it's as simple as sitting them down and talking to them. Of course, there are other times when tantrums develop and a more extreme reaction is necessary, but there's a line between spanking a child and causing them physical harm, and if spanking is something a parent did not want for their child, I would never raise a hand against them. Whoever you choose to be Prince Merriel's governess, you and His Majesty are still his parents."

"Are there any special skills you possess that you believe make you more qualified than others?"

"I was trained in healing when I was younger. It's often helped when I've encountered sick or injured children."

"My oldest brother has also recently adopted a child who may be placed in the care of a governess. Would you consider seeing to his upbringing as well, if there's ever a need?"

"I don't see how that would be a problem. I've watched after as many as six children at one time. Sometimes more than that, when guests would bring their children with them."

"Do you have any stipulations?"

"Only that I be allowed to keep my daughter with me, Your Majesty."

Over on the blanket, Merry had rolled onto his stomach to begin dragging himself across the floor. He'd turned himself in their direction, his bright eyes glued to Wolfram as he kicked determinedly, as if he intended to propel himself forward with his feet. He wasn't yet crawling, but he was slowly beginning to grow more familiar with movement, bending his arms and legs in such a way that Wolfram expected he would be on his hands and knees in no time. The pacifier dangled from his little wet mouth, before falling out to tumble onto the floor.

"Mmmmaaa-mmma!" he cried joyously when he saw that he had his attention.

Wolfram stood to go to his son, contemplating the simple woman across from him and her fearless, outgoing daughter. He grabbed Merry under his arms to lift him up, bringing him to his chest in a position that was becoming more familiar and more comfortable by the day. He smiled gently, and didn't bother to adopt a more severe or composed expression as he turned back to Katherine.

"While I'm not pleased it seems my father has taken it upon himself to intrude," he began, taking advantage of his time with Merry while he still could, "I'm inclined to accept this arrangement as long as you have a genuine interest."

Katherine gaped at him in shock. "I… I do."

"Then as long as you remain here, you and your daughter will be provided for accordingly, and while you retain your position as Merry's governess, Brigitta will receive a proper education under one of our royal tutors."

"I don't know what to say…"

"You will be responsible for Merry's care, and for the care of my nephew should my brother require your services, but you will be assisted by Lady Elise von Mannheim, whom I will direct to instruct your daughter in court etiquette. Brigitta will have every opportunity to grow into a proper young lady."

"Your Majesty… thank you! I… this is more than I expected!" She rose from her chair only to lower into a quick succession of bows and curtsies, overwhelming Wolfram with her show of appreciation.

He cleared the discomfort from his throat with an effort, holding onto Merry a bit tighter with the realization that he would soon have to let him go.

He couldn't say why he felt that Katherine was an acceptable choice. She wasn't what he'd imagined when he'd first thought of finding a nanny for Merry, but she had a certain goodness about her that he found appealing. He was sure it had something to do with Yuuri; his husband was often painfully kind and generous, and Wolfram was beginning to unconsciously seek out those same traits in others. Katherine was not the perfect candidate, but he felt more comfortable with the idea of leaving Merry with her than he had any of the other stuffy old women he'd had the dissatisfaction of meeting that day.

Either way, he was going to trust his instincts. So far they'd been leading him pretty well.

* * *

"'Upon this, a question arises: whether it is better to be loved than feared, or feared than loved?'" Yuuri read aloud, translating from the Japanese written in his book to the spoken language of his people.

He was on his stomach, lying amongst a gathering of blankets and furs on the floor by the hearth, propped up on his elbows with the book in his hands. Wolfram was on his back beside him, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sound of his voice as he spoke. Neither of them were wearing any clothes, and used the blankets to shield their nudity from the cold, soaking in the heat of the roaring flames. Two cups of mulled wine sat together within reach of their hands.

"'It may be answered that one should wish to be both, but, because it is difficult to unite them in one person, it is much safer to be feared than loved, when, of the two, either must be dispensed with,'" Yuuri continued to recite. "'Because this is to be asserted in general of man, that they are ungrateful, fickle, false, cowardly, covetous, and as long as you succeed they are yours entirely; they will offer you their blood, property, life and children when the need is far distant; but when it approaches, they turn against you.'"

He paused to look at his husband. Wolfram was closest to the fire, with the blanket pushed down about his stomach, so that his pale chest glowed with the light of the flames. He had an arm slung across his forehead, and one of his knees was raised, bent in such a way that the blanket fell to reveal most of his thigh. He looked entirely comfortable lying like that, as if he'd not been so concerned by their nudity just two months ago.

It was February. Work was as slow as Yuuri expected it would ever be, and the war was going as well as circumstances would allow. The snows made it difficult for either side to conduct much fighting; Yuuri often wished the winter would last forever, if only to extend the temporary ceasefire a little longer. That afternoon, they'd completed their obligatory paperwork hours earlier than usual, and had escaped to their room together, while Greta was with her tutors and Merry was with his new nanny.

Yuuri enjoyed the ease and comfort with which they interacted. He liked coming to the end of the day, knowing that he and Wolfram would soon be together in a less public setting, where they could kiss and touch without restraint, or simply lie together and pass the evening with the pleasure of the other's company.

"Keep going," Wolfram said, peaceful, but his gaze was vague, as if he were allowing his thoughts to consume him.

Yuuri smiled and turned back to his book. "'And that prince who, relying entirely on their promises, has neglected other precautions, is ruined; because friendships that are obtained by payments, and not by greatness or nobility of mind, may indeed be earned, but they are not secured, and in times of need cannot be relied upon; and men have less scruples in offending one who is beloved than one who is feared, for love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails.'"

"How can you not believe that?" Wolfram suddenly asked, turning his head enough to meet his eyes.

"Because this was written based on the assumption that all men are only looking out for themselves," Yuuri said.

"It said 'in general men are ungrateful, cowardly, covetous and so on,'" Wolfram pointed out. "It never said all men are, just that a vast majority can't be trusted, which is entirely true."

"No, it isn't."

"Look at the Aristocrats. They only care about themselves. They claim to be concerned about the kingdom, but in the end they're only looking after their own skins. They'll turn their backs on one another if it suits them well enough. They'd turn their backs on _you_."

Yuuri frowned lightly, not wanting to think that was true, but his faith in the Aristocrats had been shrinking the more he encountered them. He couldn't deny that half of them were pretty self-absorbed.

"But you're looking at them as one person," he observed, trying to assume a more optimistic view. "That's true when it comes to your uncle, and Winifred, Griselda and Marlena, but what about Gwendal and Gunter?"

"My brother and Gunter are very rare men."

"Anissina's brother isn't bad either, or Julia's father. And Lord von Mannheim-"

"Is stuck in the past," Wolfram concluded, turning back to the ceiling. "He sees me as an extension of my father, which I most certainly am not. I am not that man's son."

"That's a little harsh. Don't you think you should give him a chance?"

"He never gave me one, so why should I return the favor?"

Yuuri sighed in exasperation. "Do you believe this stuff then? That men are inherently evil and it's better to be feared than loved?"

"I think it depends on the circumstances. You're obviously getting by quite well being loved by your people, although it might help our situation if you were feared by our enemies. Some men don't have what it takes to rule a country with love, so they resort to fear. Others are more accustomed to dealing in benevolence and generosity. Whether they're the better kings is debatable."

"So I would be a better king if people feared me more?"

"I didn't say that. Although that passage you read earlier should probably be considered. The one about cruelty versus mercy."

Yuuri scanned the page to find which one he was referring to and read it again. "'Therefore a prince, so long as he keeps his subjects united and loyal, ought not to mind the reproach of cruelty; because with a few examples he will be more merciful than those who, through too much mercy, allow disorders to arise, from which follow murders or robberies; for these are wont to injure the whole people, whilst those executions which originate with a prince offend the individual only.'"

"Exactly," Wolfram agreed.

"You think I'm allowing too much disorder?"

"I didn't say that either. You've done marginally well, comparatively. I'm just saying that some of the points that book makes are valid, at least from the way I've always looked at things."

"You don't trust people."

"I trust you," Wolfram said, facing him again. "Isn't that enough?"

"Most of the times," Yuuri permitted. "I just wish you didn't think the whole world was against you."

"The world has never given me a reason to believe otherwise."

"Aren't I a good enough reason?"

Wolfram smiled, that sweet little smile he never showed in the presence of others, and moved his arm to caress Yuuri's cheek with his knuckles. "If Gwendal and Gunter are rare men, then you are even rarer, Yuuri."

Yuuri sighed and took hold of Wolfram's hand with one of his own. "I don't think we should read this book anymore. It's giving you bad ideas. I'll find another one."

"Just finish the chapter. You're almost done with it, aren't you?"

"There's not that much more, just that I should be feared but not hated, and that I can do that by staying away from people's property and their women."

Wolfram laughed, his eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Because men are possessive of their women, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Are you not possessive of me?" Wolfram arched a brow, rolling closer to him as his hand drifted from his cheek up to Yuuri's short hair, fingering it idly.

"You're not a woman," Yuuri noted.

His husband smirked playfully. "A very astute observation," he said, taking Yuuri's book from him and setting it aside. He moved in to run kisses down the side of Yuuri's face, the touch of his lips and the feel of his bare skin provoking Yuuri's heart into a fierce rhythm. "But you can still be possessive."

Yuuri chuckled, leaning in to his gentle caresses. "Do you _want_ me to be possessive?"

"I want you to want me," Wolfram breathed, taking Yuuri's earlobe into his mouth.

"Be honest," Yuuri said, allowing the seduction for a moment longer before taking Wolfram by the shoulders and forcing him down to the floor, climbing on top of him and pinning his arms to the blanket. "You like this."

"Don't you?" Wolfram challenged, provocatively spreading his legs.

Yuuri couldn't exactly deny it. Simply playing around like this was enough to get him aroused, and there was no way for Wolfram to miss the reaction when they were so close together.

"You're doing this on purpose," Yuuri concluded, smiling at the glaze over Wolfram's eyes.

"Maybe," his husband allowed, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to ward off a grin.

"I thought things like this made you embarrassed."

"Did you forget the wine?" Wolfram asked, making a motion with his head toward their mostly empty cups.

Yuuri certainly hadn't forgotten, but he did find it to be a bit amusing. "You're a slutty drunk," he surmised. "There's no other explanation."

"I'm not drunk."

"But you don't deny that you're slutty?"

Wolfram huffed at him, straining against the arms that held him down to silence him with a kiss. Yuuri granted him his desire, lowering himself to press against him as their lips locked together. He laughed when Wolfram moaned at the contact, and would have pulled back to make a comment about his inappropriate behavior if there hadn't been a knock on the door.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, regretfully breaking the kiss as he cursed the bad timing. "What?" he called, releasing Wolfram's arms to slide off of him.

"It's important, Your Majesty," Gwendal voice rumbled from the other side of the door.

Wolfram's reaction was swift. He grabbed the corner of one of the blankets and yanked, wrapping it around his naked body to hide his current state from his older brother. His playful expression changed to one of humiliation, and his cheeks flushed brightly.

"I figured as much," Yuuri replied, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his statement. He pulled what little of the blankets Wolfram had left over onto his lap so that he wasn't as exposed. "You can come in."

"Are you decent?" Gwendal made sure to ask.

"Mostly."

There was a pause, in which Gwendal was most likely considering the ramifications of entering their room while they were unclothed. Eventually, the door handle turned and he stepped in, glancing around until he found them by the fire. He met them with his ubiquitous frown, but his eyes glinted in such a way that Yuuri could tell he was not pleased to see him naked with his youngest brother.

Yuuri did his best not to let Gwendal's arrival affect him, clearing his throat to keep his voice steady. "What is it?" he asked.

"This just arrived for you," Gwendal replied, holding out a piece of folded parchment.

"Who's it from?"

"It's not marked."

Slowly, Yuuri took the note from him, turning it around in his hands to see that the outer surface was indeed blank. "You haven't opened it yet? How do you know it's for me?" he wondered.

"Look on the back," Gwendal instructed.

Doing so, Yuuri saw the wax seal pressed with an image, as his was when he sent out private letters and important decrees. Instead of a crowned lion, however, the wax was marked with a wolf.

"That is the seal of the royal family of Isidore," Gwendal informed him.

Yuuri glanced at him in surprise, then looked back down at the letter in his hands. He studied the seal again dubiously, and then reached over Wolfram to hold the paper above the flames on the hearth, allowing the heat to melt the wax enough for him to be able to open it without damage. He pulled it open unhurriedly, instantly on alert as elegantly written human script was revealed to his eyes.

_'To His Majesty Yuuri of the Great Demon Kingdom,_

_It troubles me that we should find ourselves at war, yet I have hitherto gone without the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I propose that we cease all hostilities until such a meeting can be arranged. I humbly invite Your Majesty, the Prince, and Your Majesty's councilors to my castle in Braith, along the southern shore, where the Queen and I will be staying on progress this spring. There is much for us to discuss, and perhaps a possibility that we may reach an understanding._

_I anxiously await your reply._

_Written this day, January the thirteenth, by the hand of His Grace Louis Maximilien Adla, Duke of Braith._

_Signed,_

_Lyron Aurelius Gaunt, King of Isidore by the Grace of God'_

**TBC…**

**

* * *

A note on pronunciations:** I believe someone asked me once how to pronounce Merry's name (or, rather, his nickname, since his actual name is Merriel). His real name is pronounced Mair-ee-ul, but they call him Merry, which is said just like 'Mary.'

Also, Brigitta is pronounced Bri-gee-ta. 'Gee' as in 'geese.'

And Louis' name is pronounced in the French fashion, with a silent 's.'

**A/N:** The book Yuuri was reading in the last scene was _The Prince_ by Machiavelli. The next chapter features more of Wolfram's Daddy, which I'm looking forward to quite a bit. More Lyron, too!

ALSO, I've updated some links on my profile if you guys want to look at some pictures. Occasionally, my beta will doodle for me, plus there's also some fanart and cosplay photos from readers that I've finally gone in and added!


	26. Douter

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and sexual content.

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few very minor others on the side.

**Rating:** M.

**A/N: **So sorry it's taken me so long. I've had a busy summer! I also apologize if I didn't respond to your reviews for the last chapter! At this point, I can't remember if I did or not, so I'll just... apologize anyway! Sorry for the wait, but thanks for being patient!

Also, I've never read the novels, though I'm sure I've said that before. I began this and am continuing it based on the information provided in seasons 1 and 2 of the anime.

And so I give you Chapter 26, in which Yuuri begins to doubt his own convictions, and Lyron welcomes them to his castle…

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty-Six - Douter - To Doubt**

Wolfram began to feel ill the moment he picked up the scent of sea-salt in the air.

For much of their short journey from Blood Pledge Castle to the port, he'd been in a relatively good mood, if not a little apprehensive about their trip. Meeting with Lyron was going to be no easy task. This was the man who had referred to him so insultingly in his taunting letters to Yuuri, as well as the one responsible for Ilyich's attack. The thought of facing him was nearly as frightening as the thought of Ilyich returning from the dead, though he hoped that in seeing Lyron he would be able to conquer the remainder of his fears and move on entirely. Seeing exactly what sort of man Lyron was would, at the very least, give them all more of an idea of what to expect from him and how to deal with his actions.

The argument that had ensued after Lyron's invitation had nearly forced him to stay behind, as Yuuri had not been inclined to agree to allow him to join him on this fool's errand, nor had his older brother thought it wise. If Gwendal had had it his way, neither of them would have gone, but Yuuri, true to his former ways, had been adamant that a meeting must take place if they were to have any hope of conciliation. Wolfram had had to resort to less than sophisticated means to gain his husband's approval to his idea of joining him, cornering him in their bedroom and putting on a tantrum the likes of which Yuuri had never seen. It hadn't been the most mature route to take, but it had succeeded where the more peaceful dispute had not, and reminding Yuuri of his desire to be treated as his equal had cinched the deal.

Wolfram knew with every ounce of his being that he was right, that Yuuri and his brothers were allowing their fear of another attack prevent them from seeing the necessity of his going with them. If he were to stay behind when Lyron had expressly invited both he and Yuuri, what sort of message would that send to their enemy? That they feared him? That they were overly concerned by his intentions? Would it not be better to face him and show their adversary that they were a strong nation determined to fight and defy him should he make any more attempts at invading their kingdom?

Yuuri and Gwendal could not be forced to agree, Yuuri due in part to his recent paranoia, and Gwendal due to caution. It seemed as if his eldest brother was growing far more wary of everything in his advancing age.

Proud as Wolfram was to have gotten his way despite their arguments, he regretted it the instant his stomach began to betray him, and only in his stubbornness could he maintain a firm grasp on his decision.

"I knew you shouldn't have come," Yuuri commented to his left, turning his head to view him even as he kept a firm grip on Ao's reins. "It wasn't just because it's dangerous," he asserted, "but because I didn't want you to get sick."

Wolfram frowned, realizing he must have been allowing his discomfort to show. Checking his expression, he forced it into something less agonizing.

"It's not going to work, Wolf. I know you."

"Stop lecturing me like I'm a child," he ground out, glaring ahead instead of giving Yuuri the luxury of seeing more of his progressing misery.

"Stop acting like one."

His former efforts were quickly made meaningless, as he snapped his head in Yuuri's direction to pin him with a harsh scowl. "You're lucky I can't reach you right now, because if I could I would have hit you for that."

Yuuri frowned back, clearly unimpressed by his response. "I think I just made my point."

"Shut up."

His husband shrugged and went back to watching the approaching dock. "Don't look at me when you're throwing up all over the place. This time I won't feel sorry for you."

"It's not like you ever have before."

Riding in front of them, Gwendal threw an irritated glare over his shoulder. "If neither of you can conduct yourselves in a dignified manner, you can be sure that Lyron will come out of this meeting with no higher opinion of you than he possess now," he warned them.

Yuuri gave no response and seemed intent on dropping the topic for the time being, but Wolfram made a face behind his brother's back once Gwendal had returned to facing forward. He certainly didn't appreciate his tone of voice, and would have made a comment about Gwendal not lecturing him as well if he thought it wouldn't result in a set of degrading remarks about his behavior. He would admit that he wasn't managing himself accordingly, and his actions thus far had been less than magnificent, but he could only blame the sense of unease and physical discomfort that was quickly creeping up on him.

He was at least satisfied that he'd gotten the last word in his verbal spat with Yuuri.

Wolfram's condition worsened as they drew closer to the port. He watched the ship that would carry them across the sea grow larger with every minute of their approach, and knew that much of his time on it would be spent in wretched malaise. The royal standard waved proudly in the brisk ocean breeze, with gulls cawing above. Wolfram could hear the rhythmic sound of the waves beneath the shouts of the sailors, and it made his stomach churn. He swallowed down the anxiety rising in his throat, willing his hands not to shake as his brow broke out into a cold sweat.

As much as Lyron was bound to bring tension and uncertainty to their visit, Wolfram thought that the voyage across the sea would surely be the most trying portion of their journey. They'd brought a large retinue of soldiers for defense while in Isidore, more than they had when crossing into other human countries before, and with Gwendal, Conrart and Yozak with them, he doubted much could occur that they wouldn't be able to handle. Navigating the ocean, however, was an enterprise they had very little control over; Wolfram would feel ill regardless. He could only hope their captain would be able to sail them to Isidore in the shortest time possible.

He took a moment to steady his breathing once they arrived at the dock, while his brothers and their escort dismounted. Yuuri came over to him after handing Ao's reins to someone else, reaching up to run a hand along his thigh. Wolfram looked at him, allowing some of his gloom to show, and accepted his assistance in climbing out of the saddle.

"I'm sorry, Wolfram," Yuuri apologized once he was on the ground, taking both of his hands and gazing at him in concern. "I'm just worried about you. I don't like seeing you like this."

Wolfram shook his head in an attempt to play it off. "I'm fine," he insisted.

"No, you're not," Yuuri returned confidently. "Look at you. You're pale and clammy," he said, lifting a hand to his forehead. "You look like you're going to be sick any minute."

"Yes, but once we get there, I'll be fine."

Yuuri frowned sadly as he brushed Wolfram's bangs out of his face. "I wish you would have stayed behind."

"And let you go off by yourself again?"

"I wouldn't have been by myself. Gwendal, Conrad and Yozak still would have come. There would have been just as many soldiers."

"It's too late now," Wolfram cautioned him, taking the hand in his hair and pulling it away before anyone could spy them being overly affectionate in public. "We're here and I'm not turning back."

Yuuri sighed, keeping the hold on his hand and giving it a firm squeeze. "Just take it easy while we're on the ship, okay?"

Wolfram snorted and showed him a small smile. "You expected me to do anything else?"

His husband chuckled quietly in response, pulling him close for a quick hug. "What am I going to do with you?" he wondered.

"Right now you're going to help me on deck," Wolfram told him, before disengaging himself from Yuuri's embrace and peering up at him with as good of a smirk as he could muster. "Later, I expect a relaxing massage and maybe…" He paused to lower his voice before continuing, "… a little something else."

Yuuri's eyes sparked with interest, but his expression was doubtful. "Somehow I don't think you'll feel up for it."

"I might surprise you."

The dubious look Yuuri was wearing never dissipated, but he failed to argue with him further.

When Yuuri offered him his arm, Wolfram placed his hand in the crook of his elbow and consented to Yuuri leading him aboard the vessel. His brothers and Yozak waited for them by the gangplank, and filed in behind them as they passed. The rest of the soldiers brought up the rear, constantly looking out for any sign of danger, but the threat would be minimal until they left port.

Ascending the wooden platform, Wolfram felt as if the ground was dropping out from beneath his feet. His stomach plummeted, turning wildly, and he struggled to force down the sick feeling assaulting his throat. Every breath he took filled his lungs with the offending scent of brine. His grip tightened on Yuuri's arm. He wanted to lie down, or to sit at the very least, but he knew he must keep himself upright and maintain a regal air until after they'd greeted the captain and crew and were finally taken to their stateroom.

He was nearly shaking from the effort to preserve his composure by the time they reached the deck, and though his vision was clear, he could not bring himself to conduct a careful observation of the crew until a recognizable but unwelcome voice greeted his husband.

"Your Majesty."

He gaped to see his father standing before him, and momentarily forgot his illness.

His father stood at the head of a group of his men, dressed impeccably in his uniform of white and blue, gold buttons flashing in the sunlight. He looked no different than he had the last time Wolfram had seen him, scarred and singularly armed, with dull, empty eyes that made Wolfram want to strike the man if only to impart some feeling into him. His father met them with the most pathetic smile Wolfram had ever seen, before removing his feathered hat to lower himself into a bow.

"Captain von Bielefeld," Yuuri responded, and when Wolfram turned his eyes to him he saw that Yuuri lacked any sense of surprise. "It's nice to meet you again."

"Likewise," his father said as he rose from his obeisance. "I hope you've been well."

"For the most part," Yuuri answered congenially. "I'll be better once all of this is over."

Wolfram's blood boiled. He gawked at his husband as realization began to dawn on him, and pinched the inner part of Yuuri's elbow with the hand still on his arm. In response, Yuuri moved his other hand to grab his wrist and give his hand another squeeze - this one was clearly a warning.

Yuuri had known his father would be their acting captain and hadn't bothered to say anything about it.

"Wolfram," his father said his name carefully, inclining his head respectfully enough, but not treating him with the same sort of deference he'd shown to Yuuri. Wolfram could only wonder if it was because he truly didn't feel the same sort of esteem for him or if he was merely uncomfortable as well.

Angered and confused as he always was when faced with him, Wolfram was more inclined to believe the former.

"Father," he replied as steadily as he could, feeling both incensed and mortified.

"I didn't think you'd be coming."

"It seems as if that's what everyone would prefer."

His father frowned, and Wolfram couldn't tell if it was in displeasure or concern. It all looked the same on his father's face. "You're ill," he observed.

"I've been worse."

"Your mother's been writing to me. She's informed me of recent events in the castle."

"Mother needs to learn when to keep my private business private," Wolfram snapped. He could only imagine the sorts of things she'd written, and how much of his troubles and affairs his father was aware of. "I don't want to talk about it," he contended, adding a silent 'least of all to you.' "What's done is done."

It was difficult to decipher his father's reaction. His jade eyes barely changed, though the lines around his mouth deepened as he frowned. "Of course," he agreed, making no further effort to converse with him.

When his father turned to his crew, Yuuri took the opportunity to lean closer and whisper into his ear. "Now do you want to turn back?" he asked, much too cheekily for Wolfram's liking.

Wolfram shot him the darkest glare he could possibly perform. "I may love you, Yuuri Shibuya," he snarled lowly, "but I really don't like you right now."

"Your Majesty," his father spoke again, interrupting their short interaction and causing Yuuri to straighten up and face him. "My first officer, Francis Algren."

A second man stepped forward, dressed similarly to his father, though his uniform lacked the many embellishments. Wolfram thought he looked vaguely familiar, his brown hair pulled out of his face with a simple scrap of twine, but he couldn't place where he'd seen him before. The man's gray eyes twinkled in amusement from within a face as old as his father's, but more lively and free of scars.

"Algren?" Yuuri wondered, as if he, too, had been struck with a sudden sense of recognition.

The first officer dropped into a quick bow at being acknowledged, but was swift to raise himself. "My daughter recently became your son's nanny."

Wolfram remembered only seconds after the revelation that the woman he'd interviewed and inevitably chosen had admitted to having a connection with his father. He'd put his feelings of dissatisfaction aside at the time, but found them more difficult to ignore now.

"Katherine?" Yuuri blinked in surprise.

"I hope she's not giving you any trouble."

"No, she's great! Honestly. It's nice to meet you."

Yuuri's response was a little too enthusiastic for his liking, but Wolfram supposed it couldn't be helped. His husband, even after his many trials, would no doubt always retain some part of his friendly nature.

"Pleasure's mine, Your Majesty."

Wolfram's hand loosened and slipped from Yuuri's arm when his husband turned to him. "You never told me Katherine's father worked with yours," he said.

"It must have slipped my mind," Wolfram replied shortly, growing increasingly cross.

"Well," Francis drawled, and Wolfram found himself being unscrupulously examined. "Little Prince Wolfram. You're not so little anymore, are you?"

Wolfram's hand balled itself into a fist while his brows furrowed in displeasure.

"He's gotten big," Francis commented to his father.

"He's grown well," his father agreed.

"I remember the first time you took him on a ship."

"Have you worked together a long time?" Yuuri asked as Wolfram attempted to silently diffuse his own anger.

"Since the naval academy," Francis supplied. "Wolf was only a first officer himself when he married Her Majesty the Queen. One day he and Her Majesty brought little Wolfram on board to meet the captain and go for a ride out to sea."

"We made the unfortunate discovery that Wolfram suffers from seasickness," his father reported.

"Very unfortunate," Wolfram grumbled, only then remembering his former abdominal discomfort.

The conversation paused. Wolfram found himself being thoroughly scrutinized by his father.

"You should rest," he finally said.

Wolfram almost snapped at him, but held his tongue before he could bite out an acerbic 'you think?'.

"I'll escort your to your stateroom," his father offered, turning to lead them off deck.

"If you need anything, Your Majesty, just ask!" Francis called after them.

"Thank you," Yuuri returned, then took Wolfram by the hand to guide him along.

Wolfram turned a glare up at him, but Yuuri did not meet his gaze. Enraged, Wolfram glanced over his shoulder to seek out his brothers. Gwendal's expression was no different than normal, but Conrart's usually pleasant countenance was slightly strained. Wolfram was sure both of them had known of their sailing arrangements beforehand, and was only somewhat ameliorated by Conrart's resentment toward his father.

He nearly dragged his feet as they made their way below deck, shuffling along instead of walking proudly. He held Yuuri's hand in an angered death grip, and glared at his father's back. The empty sleeve of his father's jacket flapped uselessly as he walked. Wolfram couldn't decide whether to be even more angry over the fact that his father was so obviously flawed, or allow himself to feel pity for an injury he would never want to sustain himself.

For the moment, he settled on anger and revulsion, shoving his pity down to be contemplated at a later time.

"We've prepared our best stateroom for you," his father said when he came to a stop by a closed door. "It isn't quite as spacious as the Royal Chambers in Blood Pledge Castle, but I hope you'll be comfortable."

Wolfram's stomach churned again, both from his sickness and from the sudden realization that his father was most likely very intimately familiar with his and Yuuri's bedroom; the thought that his mother and father had probably conceived him in that very bed almost induced a round of vomiting.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Yuuri responded for the both of them. "Thank you, Captain."

"If you'll excuse me, then. We'll be leaving port within the hour."

"Right. Of course."

His father paused, and Wolfram found those lifeless eyes resting on him again. "If you need anything, Wolfram…"

"I'm fine," he forced out, desiring his father's sympathy no more than he desired to travel by sea.

With a frown and a nod, his father excused himself with a bow, then moved passed them to head back up on deck.

Wolfram did not look after him, and ignored the concerned looks he was receiving from his husband. With a sigh, Yuuri opened the door to the stateroom, quickly ushering him inside. Wolfram allowed it, but turned on him the moment the door was closed. He didn't even spare the time to look over their accommodations before starting in on him.

"Were you aware that we would be traveling on my father's ship?" he asked, pinning Yuuri with an accusing glare.

"Yes," Yuuri replied. "Gwendal and I made the decision together."

"Without my input."

It wasn't a question.

"Even if you'd been there, I would have made the same decision," Yuuri informed him, meeting his anger with calm certainty.

"What, did you and Gwendal meet secretly while I was seeing to Merry?"

"You were having tea with your mother and Elizabeth, actually."

Wolfram seethed, and would have hit him if he hadn't been able to control his violent impulses. "You went behind my back!" he shouted, feeling betrayed.

"This is one of the best ships in the fleet, Wolfram," Yuuri explained, "and your father's a highly commended captain. Gwendal suggested it and I didn't see any reason to go with a different option."

"Even though you knew I wouldn't be comfortable with it?"

"This doesn't have anything to do with him being your father," his husband argued. "It has to do with him being good at what he does. If we're going to Isidore, then we're going to go on one of our best ships, with one of our best men at the helm. Our navy is superior to Lyron's," he reminded him, "and it's going to be one of our only protections while we're over there."

Wolfram couldn't deny that. It made sense, and he could admit that Yuuri had thought the decision through wisely, but he didn't find Yuuri's deception any more agreeable. "You still could have told me ahead of time!"

"Why, so you could stomp around and pitch a fit about it?"

"I would not have pitched a fit!"

"And what are you doing now?"

His glare only grew harsher at Yuuri's patronizing tone. "I would have liked to have been prepared!"

"Why do you need to prepare yourself to see your own father?"

Wolfram continued to frown but said nothing else. He didn't have an answer, at least not one Yuuri would understand. Yuuri had a wonderful relationship with Shoma, and couldn't possibly be expected to comprehend Wolfram's situation with his own family. He doubted Yuuri would ever see things the way he did; if he tried to explain it, he suspected Yuuri would think he was merely overreacting. His husband did have the horrible habit of thinking such things.

The silence between them dragged on for some time longer. Wolfram soon had to avert his eyes, directing his frown to the floor as he swallowed heavily to clear his throat of whatever was trying to make its way up. Yuuri let out another sigh, and then there were footsteps tapping against the floor as he made his way over and took him by the arms, rubbing comfortingly.

"Give him a chance, Wolfram," Yuuri said, stooping enough to look him in the face. "He can't be that bad."

Wolfram couldn't be forced to agree. "You don't know him," he claimed.

"Neither do you."

That was the truth if nothing else was, but Wolfram wasn't about to change his ways and consider that he might be wrong about the man when he'd spent more than eighty years questioning why his father had even bothered to marry his mother in the first place. It all seemed rather pointless to him.

"That isn't my fault," he declared. "He's the one who left me."

Yuuri's hands continued their soothing stroking up and down his arms. "Why did he leave you?" he patiently asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Wolfram wondered, more defensively than he'd intended to. He couldn't help it that he was overly sensitive about the issue. "Why don't you ask _him_? You seem to like each other well enough."

"Wolfram…"

"I can't believe you."

"I didn't do this to purposefully make you angry," Yuuri said.

"You should have told me," Wolfram persisted again.

"Okay, okay, I should have told you," Yuuri finally agreed. "I was going to, but I didn't want to argue with you about it. You don't always make things easy, Wolf."

Unintentionally, Wolfram cringed at his use of the shortened form of his name. It had never bothered him previously, but that was before he'd realized how many people referred to his father the same way - his mother, Algren, and probably the rest of his men.

"I have every right to disagree with you," Wolfram asserted, forcing his mind onto a different track. Better to confront Yuuri about his failure to treat him as an equal again than think about his father any more than he had to.

"Not in this case," Yuuri proposed.

Wolfram gaped at him again, jerking himself away from his caring touch. "I should be able to make my own decisions!"

Yuuri let him pull back, his hands dropping to his sides. "I'm letting you come, aren't I?"

"You still didn't consult me about traveling with my father!"

"He's your father!"

"Exactly!" Wolfram barked. "What makes you think I want to be around him?"

Yuuri looked very close to losing his cool and giving in to his frustrations, but he surprised Wolfram by managing to keep hold of his temper. It had seemed harder and harder for him to do as the war progressed, and even in his anger Wolfram was happy to see that his husband's moods were growing less erratic.

"I'm done discussing this with you, Wolfram," Yuuri informed him as evenly as possible. "If you don't want to put up with it, then I'll help you off the ship and have some of the soldiers escort you home."

The offer was tempting, but after going through all the trouble to get this far, Wolfram was damned if he'd agree to it.

"I really don't like you right now," he made sure to remind him.

"Yeah, you said that before."

"I'm not happy about this," he affirmed.

Yuuri's expression grew pained, yet he seemed no closer to making the situation more to Wolfram's liking. "I didn't think you would be," he admitted.

"As long as we have that cleared up…"

Wolfram could no longer keep a firm grasp on his dignity. His stomach had been troubling him since they'd grown closer to the coast, and even in the distraction posed by his father's presence, it hadn't settled. The twisting only grew more pronounced as the minutes ticked by, and his heightened emotional state wasn't helping matters. He took two quick breaths in the hopes of stalling the inevitable, but the attempt was hardly successful. With no other choice but to give in, Wolfram turned abruptly and promptly emptied his stomach.

Yuuri moved to help him in an instant, placing a healing touch along his back and wrapping an arm around him to offer support. "You're such a stubborn brat," he said, guiding him away from the mess on the floor and helping him onto the bed.

"Bite me," Wolfram mumbled around the sour taste in his mouth.

"Tempting," Yuuri replied, "but not while you're sick."

If he expected an argument, Wolfram was sorry to disappoint him.

* * *

The ship rocked with each wave that crashed against its hull. Yuuri could feel every motion as it bobbed to and fro; he'd lost count of the times he'd had to voyage across the sea in these carracks, ships that had not seen much use on Earth for hundreds of years. The wild pitching of the boat could often be worrying, especially in a storm, but the milder rocking was comforting. He'd been lulled to sleep by the careful tipping of such vessels on many occasions.

Tonight did not seem to be one of those times.

Yuuri lied in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as he listened to the sounds of the sea. A lantern, lit when he'd given up on sleep half an hour ago, swung with each sway of the ship, splashing its light along the wooden walls that creaked and groaned. He could hear movement somewhere nearby, and thought someone might be snoring in one of the adjacent rooms. It was different than the quiet nights in the castle, but he couldn't dislike it. Being on the open sea had its own appeal.

He turned with a sigh to look at Wolfram, tranquil in sleep beside him. The afternoon on board had been agony for them both - for Wolfram because his seasickness had been nearly unending, and for Yuuri because there had been little for him to do to comfort him. He could only be thankful that his magic outstripped the skills of all the others, and he'd been able to employ his healing even after they'd crossed out of demon tribe waters. He'd used as much as he was able to bring his husband peace, but Wolfram had suffered regardless.

He was happy to see him looking so serene, his furrowed brow smoothed out as he eased into slumber. Wolfram's mouth was open as he breathed, his cheeks rosy from the heat of the blankets he'd wrapped around himself in a cocoon, and his bangs moist with a natural sweat instead of the cold dampness from earlier in the day. He was sure Wolfram would fair no better with the coming of a new day, but at least he was able to sleep now and regain some of his lost strength.

Yuuri discovered a frown the longer he looked at the other young man. He felt terrible knowing that Wolfram was experiencing so much misery, and wished his counterpart hadn't insisted that he come along. They all would have been more at ease if Wolfram had stayed behind. Yuuri knew the journey would have been perilous either way, but at least with Wolfram back at the castle there would have been one less stress to contend with. He didn't want to think that Lyron would attempt something during their encounter, but the possibility remained; he wanted to keep Wolfram safe, and would have liked to spare him the trials of seasickness as well.

But of course Wolfram had to have his way. Yuuri wouldn't have minded caving under different circumstances, but things being as they were…

Being with Wolfram was both a comfort and a source of stress. Wolfram could be sweet and supportive when it was necessary, and his presence had done Yuuri a world of good after he'd come back from the battle field, but he was also stubborn and insistent and querulous. Yuuri understood some of his behavior; Wolfram's emotions were generally easy to read, and he never hesitated to give his opinions. Wolfram was impetuous, arrogant, overindulged to the extreme, and constantly seeking control.

Yuuri could forgive him for most of it. He knew that Wolfram's need to live up to the reputations of both of his well-accomplished older brothers led him to be reckless in his attempts to prove himself, just as he knew that Wolfram had been raised to set himself above common men, that he'd had honor, pride and princely virtue ingrained in him since childhood. If Wolfram was spoiled, it was only because his family had pandered to a needy and demanding child; Lady Celi cooed over him and petted him like he was still a boy, treating him to presents and sweets and coddling him more than she did her oldest two.

Wolfram was the baby, and being a youngest child himself, Yuuri could recognize that it was difficult to grow up appropriately with family insisting on treating you like a child. In almost five years, he thought Wolfram had managed to do a great deal of maturing, all things considered.

But it was Wolfram's bid for control that left Yuuri hopeless. He could tolerate the conceit and the mood swings and the pampered demands of a young man accustomed to wealth, but Wolfram's desperate need for control over any given situation denied Yuuri the ability to have control himself. He couldn't allow that anymore, not after everything. He was the king, and under the current circumstances he needed to _be_ the king, to defend his country, his people, and his family. He wouldn't be able to do that the way his heart, his mind, and his very soul were urging him to if he let Wolfram take that away from him.

Wolfram had claimed, more than once, that he had no desire to rule the country, but Yuuri was finding it harder to believe him with each argument and disagreement they had about the country, the world, and their respective roles in it. If Wolfram had things his way, the Aristocrats would be gone, and _he _would be the one to act while Yuuri remained in the castle. Before, that had been acceptable; now, Yuuri needed that to change. He couldn't let others act in his place when he was more than capable to doing so on his own.

"I need you to let me take care of you, Wolfram," he whispered, moving a hand to lightly stroke Wolfram's face, well aware that the young man in question was too deeply asleep to hear him. "I need you to let me make the decisions, and I need you to believe that they're the right ones."

It wasn't his fault that this was how he'd been raised, no more than it was Wolfram's fault that he'd been brought up to distrust humans and look down on commoners as ignorant. Marrying a common, human king hadn't changed Wolfram's opinions about everyone; similarly, marrying another man wasn't going to change the way Yuuri's mind worked. He'd been raised to think that, when he settled down, he would form the foundation of a new family, of which he would be head.

He was supposed to have a mundane desk job and marry a loving, humble wife; they were supposed to have two children, and live in a peaceful, bourgeois neighborhood. Being with Wolfram was not what he'd expected, and while he truly enjoyed it, he couldn't master the impulse to 'be the man,' to provide the support and lead his family, and expect to come home to a warm meal and amiable smiles.

He didn't want the arguments. He didn't want Wolfram pestering him about the Aristocrats, or telling him he was being too merciful, or questioning his decision to sail with his father.

He'd almost hoped that Wolfram would forgo hiring a nanny. It was nice not having to worry about Merry all the time, but part of him, still so heavily influenced by his middle-class upbringing and all the ideals that came with it, had wanted Wolfram to give up politics and focus on the baby instead.

It disgusted him to think like that. It was old-fashioned and narrow-minded, and shouldn't apply to his relationship with Wolfram at all, but it was the truth.

Heaving another heavy sigh, Yuuri snatched his hand away from Wolfram's face and pushed himself out of bed. He stumbled when the boat rocked as he stood, but he was quick to grab onto a stable surface and prevented what could have been a rather painful fall. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure his escape had not been noted, Yuuri saw Wolfram still fast asleep. He hardly stirred, and gave no sign that he was even aware that he was now in bed alone.

Yuuri left their stateroom once he'd pulled on a shirt, shutting the door behind him after peeking in one more time to reassure himself that Wolfram hadn't moved. He crept down the empty hall, trailing a hand along one of the walls as he went, in case he should need its support with another tipping of the carrack. He was surprised not to find Conrad standing watch outside his door, though his absence made Yuuri's break for freedom and solitude much easier. As much as he'd come to need Conrad's guidance over the years, he didn't think his marital problems with Conrad's baby brother were something he could freely discuss with him, at least not anymore, not when they were so involved.

In any case, he discovered Conrad's whereabouts moments later, when he heard familiar voices drifting out of one of the other staterooms.

"… to Cimaron would be to our advantage," he caught the later half of Gwendal's statement, and paused momentarily to listen. "If Belar dies and Varick becomes King…"

"_If_ he becomes King," Conrad stressed. "There are other candidates."

"Varick is next in line and has the strongest claim," Gwendal insisted.

"He could be deposed," Yozak countered, "if enough of the court is against him. Some of them might prefer the younger brother."

Wary of being caught, Yuuri peeked through the door, which had been left open a crack or jarred by the rocking ship. He saw Conrad's back as he, Gwendal and Yozak sat around a small table, sharing a bottle of wine between them.

"Whichever brother inherits the crown, it would only benefit us to make peace with them," Gwendal maintained. "Isidore is crossing through Cimaron to infiltrate our borders. If we were to form an alliance-"

Careful not to be seen, Yuuri quickly passed the door and continued down the hall, in no mood to worry about politics tonight. They were sure to come to him whenever they'd made a decision, and for once he would be patient and wait for them; he had other things on his mind tonight, none of which had anything to do with Cimaron.

He found the stairs that would take him up on deck and followed them, wincing as the wood creaked loudly beneath his bare feet. He reassured himself that plenty of people had probably been going up and down the stairs all evening, and therefore the sound would not be out of place; Conrad and the others had no need to become suspicious. Even if they did, there were no rules that said the King couldn't be on deck after nightfall.

He was the King. Theoretically, he could do whatever he wanted.

The crashing of the ocean waters greeted him under a dark sky. Looking up, he could only pick out a few stars, and the moon was mostly covered by a forbidding string of clouds. The air was cold, as the pleasant spring weather that had spread across the Great Demon Kingdom faded the farther north they traveled. He thought there might be a few, small flakes of snow drifting down from above, but hoped it was just his imagination.

Yuuri made his way to the side of the ship, smiling in response to the questioning glances he received from a couple of sailors who passed him. He shivered at a particularly strong gust of air, his breath vaporizing in front of him as he leaned against the railing. He considered turning back for a coat or fur robe, but would rather not cross paths with his godfather or Chief Adviser and face their respective worry and disapproval. He could tolerate the cold for a few moments; in fact, the wind in his hair and the ocean spray on his face and feet were rather invigorating.

For a little while he was able to look out at the bleakness of the sea with an empty mind, but it wasn't long before the wild waves reminded him of the young man he'd left below deck, and the troubles that came with their relationship. It would be nice if he and Wolfram could enjoy their travels by sea, and spend their time as they had on Earth before the inevitable confrontation with Lyron. No matter how desperate Yuuri was to talk and attempt to make peace, he couldn't squelch his paranoia and convince himself that things would go according to plan.

Nothing ever went according to plan, and he'd been forced to realize this notion with every wrong turn his life had taken since last year.

He couldn't trust Lyron. He wanted to believe that he meant well by his offer, and that he intended to extend the hand of friendship, but all it took was the memory of Ilyich to remind him that Lyron was no friend of his. Everything Ilyich had done had been on Lyron's orders - the massacre in Fane, the attack against Wolfram and Greta, and the savage murder of Merry's mother. Ilyich had only been stopped when Yuuri put a sword through him; he had a feeling Lyron wouldn't be any different.

When had his life become so different, he wondered. When had his enemies changed from the likes of Belar, who never succeeded and continuously overreached himself, to the likes of Lyron, who rarely failed and could never seem to reach far enough? When was it, exactly, that he'd shifted from worrying about the Great Demon Kingdom's past into thinking about its future? When, and where, and how, had things become like this?

Or was he the one that was changing? Yuuri knew better than anyone else that he wasn't the same boy who'd been unknowingly carried to this world to become their king. Five years had gone by in the blink of an eye, but in those five years he'd lost his childhood, an occurrence that was partly his own doing, as he strove to be a better king, and partly the effect of his surroundings. He had become accustomed to the fighting and the betrayals, and now he thought he was becoming accustomed to the death.

There were times when he was glad to have grown, when his people looked at him with such pride and adoration, and showed so much confidence in his undertakings. But there were also moments when he wished to go back in time, and relish those carefree days of demon sword adventures and dragon sightings just a little longer.

Then he would remember the blood on his hands, and he would know that those days were gone forever.

"Your Majesty?"

Yuuri jumped as he was called, having not noticed that anyone had come up behind him. He turned quickly, forcing on a reassuring smile in case whoever had disturbed him was worrying themselves over him unnecessarily, but his expression slipped when he saw that his surprise company was not one of the many sailors still at work, but Wolfram's father.

"Captain von Bielefeld."

For no more than a split second, Yuuri felt uncomfortable by his arrival, but once he was able to shake off his husband's cynical influence, he felt his interest growing. Wolfgang von Bielefeld, for all his flaws as a father, had never been anything but polite to him, and with half of the Aristocrats whispering insults behind his back and meeting him with skepticism, Yuuri could only appreciate Wolfgang's support, however silent it might often be.

He could overlook Wolfram's dissatisfaction if it meant gaining another ally.

"It's late," the Captain observed, staring at him with hollow eyes that were nothing like his spirited son's.

"I couldn't sleep," Yuuri told him. He hesitated, wondering how much of his current mood would be appropriate to reveal to a man he barely knew, before deciding that he'd never been one to be appropriate in the first place. "I keep thinking about Isidore."

Wolfgang nodded in understanding. "Isidore is certainly a formidable enemy. You are very wise to be so wary," he said, stepping closer to stand with him by the railing. "Though I should think there are other men more dangerous to Your Majesty than Lyron."

Yuuri could not stop himself from looking surprised. "I don't understand," he replied, failing to conceal his confusion. "Isidore's army is bigger than ours, their weapons are superior, they have knights going around killing innocent people just because they can-"

"True on all counts. Of course, we do have the better navy." Wolfgang's single hand rose to touch the wooden railing of his ship. Yuuri thought he might have seen a bit of pride in his aged face.

"Do you think we can win against them?"

"If the circumstances are in our favor, then yes."

It was a decent response, and better than hearing him say 'no,' but Yuuri couldn't help but be disappointed by the answer. "I still don't really get what you said," he admitted, glancing over the cold waters and feeling rather ignorant.

Wolfgang didn't answer him right away, standing beside him in silence as the boat continued to tip and turn, and the waves crashed with increasing ferocity. The wind blew at their hair, whipping Wolfgang's bangs out of his face and revealing the garish scar along his left temple. It looked as if it had been a clean cut; Yuuri wondered when he'd gotten it, but didn't think it was something he should ask.

After a few moments, Wolfgang turned to him again and said, "The actions of one man can often be more devastating than that of an entire army."

Yuuri frowned. He had a feeling there was more behind those words than the Captain was sharing with him. He'd yet to meet someone who seemed so haunted by the past. Conrad and Adalbert both longed for Julia, dead now for over twenty years, and GegenHuber often expressed misery for the sins he'd committed in the last war, but there was something different about Wolfgang. He spoke and reacted like a man whose soul was already dead and gone, like he was nothing more than an empty body. Occasionally he would smile, or show to smallest hint of emotion, but it was always fleeting.

It never seemed real.

Yuuri could see no part of Wolfram within him. Wolfgang and Wolfram were nothing like he and Shoma; Yuuri had his father's face, his father's bearing, his father's disposition and attitude. On the contrary, Yuuri would never have guessed that Wolfram's father was a man like Wolfgang. He'd expected pride and arrogance; he'd expected someone with a temper, like Auberon, or a man with great expectations, like Gwendal. He'd thought to meet someone more like Wolfram, and had instead been confronted with someone much different.

Wolfgang was quite tall, while Wolfram had yet to grow overmuch. His face was long and gaunt; there was none of Wolfram's roundness, none of his fairness or beauty. The scars certainly had a role to play in that, and there were plenty of them; Yuuri noticed more every time he saw the man, small ones overshadowed by the larger cuts and gouges. Both Wolfgang and Wolfram had blond hair and green eyes, but Wolfgang's features were dull in comparison. His hair was ashen, not golden, and it lacked Wolfram's sprightly curls, just as his eyes, jade instead of emerald, lacked Wolfram's life and energy.

Wolfgang seemed to be no more than a candle to Wolfram's bright, blazing fire.

"Sorry," Yuuri apologized when he realized he'd been staring, and that he hadn't replied to the Captain's statements. "I was just-"

Wolfgang shook his head and lifted his hand to stop him. "Perhaps we are not as well acquainted as you would like."

"Umm… well…"

"Would you care to join me for a drink, Your Majesty?"

Yuuri paused to consider the invitation. He hadn't intended to leave the stateroom for very long, just enough time to get some fresh air and clear his head a bit. He didn't want Wolfram to wake up and worry if he wasn't there, though he figured his husband was a deep enough sleeper that he wouldn't notice his absence as long as he wasn't gone all night.

"Sure, I guess," he eventually replied, seeing no harm in doing so.

Wolfgang took a few moments to issue orders to his crew, who accepted the demands and went about their work with the diligence of the deeply loyal. Yuuri waited patiently, then followed the Captain to the stairs he'd ascended only a short while ago. They took them below deck, arriving on the same hall Yuuri's stateroom was located, but turning in a different direction. Wolfgang opened a door for him, and Yuuri curiously made his way inside.

The room they'd come to revealed itself to be the Captain's quarters. It looked more like an office than a bedroom, though there was a bed of a decent size along the far wall. A majority of the space in the room was taken up by a desk, littered with papers and charts unfurled and kept in place by paperweights, and a table and chairs. The walls were sparsely decorated with a few ornamental swords and shields, and cases of old books. Yuuri quickly glanced over the spines, and saw that most of them were works on naval history and warfare.

"Is wine to your liking?" Wolfgang asked him, removing his feathered hat and hanging it on a peg on the wall.

"Yeah, that's fine."

While Wolfgang retrieved a bottle of wine and cups to drink it from, Yuuri busied himself with a little exploration. He avoided the books for now and approached the desk instead, looking over the maps that were familiar enough to him at this point, having gone over so many himself. He was surprised to see a chart of stars beside them, but supposed it was only natural for them to use the positions of stars and constellations as a means of direction with the limited technology of the world. He took a moment to search for similarities to Earthen skies, then turned to examine more of the room.

"Oh, wow," he said, stopping by the table and chairs.

On the wall directly opposite the cluttered desk was a large portrait, of figures Yuuri had grown intimately close to, but had never seen any more youthful than they were now.

Seated in a chair in a surprisingly conservative black dress was Lady Celi, her hair fashionably styled and her hands and throat decorated with expensive jewels. Held in her lap was a small but well-fed baby, whose wide green eyes and blond curls showed him to be none other than Wolfram, dressed in a white gown trimmed in lace and holding the arm of a knitted bear.

"That was painted when Wolfram was three years old," Wolfgang said, coming up beside him with a glass of wine, which he handed to Yuuri. "Cecilie was generous enough to allow me to keep it."

Yuuri took the glass as it was offered to him, but kept his eyes focused on the painting. To the left of Lady Celi and Wolfram stood two others. One, a boy the size of a ten year old human, with brown hair and eyes, and a sword at his side, his small hand confidently gripping the ruby inlaid hilt. The other, a serious young man closer to Yuuri's age, tall and severe in black and green, one hand on the back of his mother's chair, the other resting on the smaller boy's shoulder.

A fifth figure stood to the right of the chair. At first, Yuuri failed to recognize him, but after a close inspection he realized it must be a younger, less war-beaten Wolfgang. His hair was shorter, though still the same ashen blond, his face long, but incredibly handsome. He had no scars that Yuuri could see, and his right arm was completely intact, his hand propped on his hip in much the same way Wolfram liked to stand. He wore black with silver cords and lining, with a short, dark gray cape thrown over one shoulder, and a crown of diamonds perched atop his head.

His expression was in stark contrast to the sad, haggard faces he wore now. In the portrait, he was all pride and arrogance. The artist had done a remarkable job capturing the personality of a young man sure in himself, with an ego to match his striking good looks. That was the face of the man he'd always imagined when he thought of Wolfram's father. That was Wolfram's confidence, his cockiness and self-assurance.

"Wow," he said again, amazed by the drastic changes between then and now.

Wolfgang the King Consort and Wolfgang the Captain seemed to be two entirely different people.

"I certainly was more appealing then, was I not?" Wolfram's father observed.

Yuuri flinched, feeling guilty for having made his thoughts so apparent.

Wolfgang chuckled. It was a dark sound deep in his throat. "It's alright, Your Majesty. My younger self would agree with you," he said, picking up a second glass of wine from where it rested on the table and bringing it to his mouth to slowly sip.

"I… I've never seen any pictures of Wolfram was he was little," Yuuri told him awkwardly, not wanting to admit just how much Wolfgang had changed. "And Conrad and Gwendal, too. They look very…"

"Grim," Wolfgang finished for him.

"Yeah."

"Gwendal is more relaxed now than he was then."

"I find that hard to believe."

A ghost of a smile flickered on Wolfgang's lips. "Conrart, of course, was missing his father. Dunheely left only a decade or so before Wolfram was born. Naturally, Conrart resented my presence, as Gwendal had when Cecilie married the human."

Yuuri turned to the man curiously, his interest piqued by Wolfgang's reference to 'the human.' "You didn't like him?" he wondered. He hadn't sensed any animosity in his voice when he said it, but then Wolfgang didn't express much emotion to begin with.

"No, I did not. I told Cecilie not to marry him, I warned her that it would end badly, but she wouldn't listen," the Captain explained, then raised his glass to take another swig of wine. "I was right," he said into his cup.

Frowning, Yuuri looked back at the portrait. It really did say something about the state of their family; only Wolfgang and Lady Celi were smiling. Wolfram gazed out from the canvas in the same clueless way Merry would look around an unfamiliar room, while Gwendal and Conrad appeared much more serious, despite being so young. Upon staring a little longer, Yuuri could split the subjects in the portrait into three distinct groups: the two brothers who'd both lost their fathers, the mother and her new baby, and the brash invader.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Wolfgang conveyed his regret. "My old prejudices have no place in the current era."

"It's okay," Yuuri reassured him, smiling lightly.

Other people had said or implied far worse. Wolfram's uncle never tried very hard to conceal his contempt for humans. Wolfgang hadn't seemed as bigoted as Auberon when they'd first met, but Yuuri wasn't surprised that he had his own biases - however far back in the past they were. Most of those within the royal court had had their prejudices against humans at one point or another.

Wolfgang watched him for another moment or two, perhaps to make sure that he truly wasn't insulted. When he seemed satisfied that his comment had done no harm, he drifted to another section of the room.

"There are more portraits if you wish to see them."

Yuuri responded to this with excitement, and followed the Captain to a second picture. This one was smaller than the first, containing a different set of figures. The younger Wolfgang was easy to pick out now, sitting on a luxurious couch in clothes of Bielefeld blue. A brown haired woman sat beside him, not as beautiful as Lady Celi, but still quite pretty. Two girls, identical in appearance, were to her right. A third girl, blond and green eyed, sat serenely on the floor, resting her head on Wolfgang's knee. His hand was in her hair, and his face was the picture of contentment.

"My first wife, Elenora, and our three daughters," Wolfgang told him. "Our oldest, Ileana, and the twins, Aloysia and Medora."

"Wolfram never told me he had sisters," Yuuri said, shocked by the sight of a side of Wolfram's family he'd never known existed.

"Wolfram never met them."

"But he knows?"

"Knew," Wolfgang corrected him. "All three of them have died."

Yuuri's mind failed to provide him with anything to say. What _could_ he say to that? He'd feel guilty asking questions, though the shock wasn't enough to abate his desire for more information.

"I'm sorry," he eventually said, his voice quiet and sad.

Wolfgang didn't respond to the condolence. He looked at the picture and drank his wine before saying, "Aloysia and Medora fell to illness when they were both young. Neither of them lived to reach eighty, and Ileana…" he paused, his eyes taking on an even more haunted look. "Wolfram is my only son and the only child I have left."

There were many things Yuuri wanted to ask him, but he wouldn't have been able to voice his questions without feeling accusatory. Why hadn't Wolfgang spent more time with Wolfram? How could he speak of his son like that, with something that sounded suspiciously like sorrow, and not even try to get to know him? Why didn't he make more of an effort to bridge the gap between him and his only son, when in the two portraits he looked happy and content, and proud, to be with his two families?

Instead of continuing to speak, Wolfgang led him to yet another picture. The third portrait was one of Wolfram the size of a five-year-old human, sitting in a small, cushioned chair. He wore short pants and stockings, and a long overcoat that made him look like a little gentleman. He was smiling happily, his cheeks a healthy pink.

Watching Wolfgang gaze at a picture of his son, a picture he kept in his quarters and so therefore must see on a daily basis, Yuuri felt a sense of anger toward the man on his husband's behalf. If he cared enough to keep Wolfram's portrait, why didn't he care enough to see him in person? Surely speaking with his son face-to-face would be better for both of them than staring at a lifeless picture. It was very well painted, but it didn't breathe, or talk, or love.

"Do you even care about him?" Yuuri found himself asking. He voiced the question unintentionally, but he still wanted an answer. It wasn't fair that Wolfram hadn't had the chance to know his father when he was alive and well this whole time.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I do."

"Then why?"

"Why have I never been a father to him, when I had every opportunity to do so?"

"He wanted to know you," Yuuri said confidently. Wolfram wouldn't be so sensitive about the issue now if his father's absence hadn't disappointed him. As always, Wolfram's emotion of choice was anger, but Yuuri was sure the emotion it was meant to replace was grief.

Wolfgang had no outward response; his expression never changed. He turned from the portrait to make his way back to the table, lowering himself into one of the chairs. Yuuri lingered by the third portrait for a time, but soon joined him, pulling out another chair to sit across from him. He waited, expecting that he would receive an explanation if he were patient enough, taking a few sips of his wine when he noticed he'd yet to drink it.

"Cecilie and I are cousins," Wolfgang finally said. It wasn't how Yuuri had expected him to start, but he was sure to listen intently. "My mother was her father's sister. We often spent our summers together when we were young, in Bielefeld or Spitzweg. When we were older, we saw much of each other at court. Both of our fathers were important men at the time, and were frequently called upon by the King to advise him.

"Cecilie always had her charms," he continued, slowly swirling his wine around his glass. "There wasn't a man at court who didn't want her. Even I fancied myself in love with her, but her father had other plans for her."

"Gwendal's father?" Yuuri hazarded a guess.

Wolfgang nodded. "They were married as soon as Cecilie turned eighty. By then, my father had made a match for me as well. Auberon, as the oldest, would naturally be his heir and could expect the better marriage, but my father was sure to see that I was wed to a decent bride. Elenora came from an old family, not aristocratic, but still noble. We got along well enough. We never loved one another, but I was fond of her and she cared for me in her own way.

"Unfortunately, we had little success with children," the Captain went on with his tale. His blank expression rarely wavered, but occasionally his voice would lower sadly. "Ileana was born first, then we had a stillborn son. There were other miscarriages and stillbirths before Aloysia and Medora. It isn't uncommon for so few to survive infancy, but Elenora grew melancholy from the losses and our relationship became strained."

"And Lady Celi…?"

"Cecilie had Gwendal and lost her first husband. Her father died around the same time, and Stoffel became head of the family. He searched around for another sufficient marriage. Cecilie was still quite young, and a wealthy widow, and Gwendal had been made head of the Voltaire family in place of his father."

Yuuri was surprised to learn that Gwendal had been faced with so much responsibility at such a young age. It definitely explained why he'd grown so serious, why he was so focused on his duties. It was the only thing he'd ever known.

"But Cecilie refused to accept any of his suggestions. She allowed him to manage her estate, but if she were to marry again, she wanted it to be on her own terms. And it certainly was," Wolfgang observed. He lifted his glass to finish the rest of his drink. "His Majesty the Great One decided that Cecilie should become Demon Queen. It was a shock to all of us, myself included. I am sure you agree that Cecilie is not the most suitable woman to be named Queen."

Yuuri couldn't deny it, though he also couldn't allow the comment to pass without defending his mother-in-law. "She meant well," he said.

Wolfgang nodded again. "Cecilie always means well, but her good intentions were not enough to stabilize the kingdom. Myself and others did our best to help her. Lord von Wincott was very kind to her, and she grew quite close to his family. On average, it was a very young monarchy. Cecilie had yet to reach one-hundred and fifty, and the Aristocrats were mostly children. Gwendal and Lord von Karbelnikoff were not yet adults, and Lord von Christ was not much older, though very scholarly even then. The rest of them, Stoffel, Auberon, Julius," he put special emphasis on the last name, "were itching to prove themselves. The longer Cecilie reigned, the more she began to rely on her brother, and the more opportunities he had to push for war. Then the human came."

His referral to Dunheely as 'the human' was not so surprising the second time around. Yuuri let it slip without a reaction. He felt bad thinking that Wolfgang had had such little regard for Conrad's father, but it couldn't be helped, and nothing he said or did now would change the past. He was merely thankful that Wolfgang seemed accepting enough in the present.

"Cecilie became infatuated with him immediately. She had never cared about the distinctions between demons and humans. When it came to love, there was no stopping her. I warned her against it, and Stoffel vehemently refused to accept the arrangement, but when the Great One gave his blessing, there was nothing we could do. Cecilie and Dunheely were married, the Great Demon Kingdom was forced to accept its first human King Consort, and Conrart was born a few years later.

"Cecilie loved Dunheely more than she loved her first husband, more than she loved me. Looking back, their marriage changed a great many things. It was a pivotal moment in the history of our kingdom, and without it I imagine your ascension to the throne would have been more difficult for our people to accept. But I despised him. In a way, I think I was jealous of him. He was a great swordsman. One could only admire his prowess in battle, but I was proud and vain, and could not accept a human as my superior in anything. Dunheely was my better in swordplay, and he had Cecilie, whom I had always cared for.

"No one was surprised when he left. Angry, yes, but not surprised. Stoffel had been confident that their marriage would not last long, that it would not be difficult to force the human out. With Dunheely's rise, Stoffel lost a bit of his power and influence; once the human was gone, Cecilie turned back to her brother for support."

Yuuri was unsure how to feel when he heard the old stories about Stoffel. His relationship with the man was ambiguous at best. He trusted him to an extent, and Stoffel had demonstrated his loyalty well enough when the boxes had been opened. He even thought Stoffel might have been able to set aside his prejudices for the good of the kingdom. Still, he couldn't ignore what had happened before, and all the trouble Stoffel had brought to the country.

"I went to her," Wolfgang said, grabbing the bottle of wine to refill his cup. When he held the bottle toward him, Yuuri accepted his offer for more. "Elenora and I were still on good terms, but we'd grown apart over the years, and I was unsatisfied with the slow pace of my career. Cecilie was lonely. She turned to me for comfort, and I was arrogant enough to believe that I was better for her, and better for the kingdom, than the human had been.

"Our affair lasted only a year when she became pregnant with Wolfram. I, impetuous as I was, took it as a sign that we should marry. I was willing to leave Elenora, who'd always been faithful to me, if it meant I could have Cecilie and a crown. Cecilie was not as resolved. She was still in love with Dunheely. It was only her fear that our child would be born a bastard that took her to the Great One. He sanctioned our marriage without requiring her to divorce the human, though I had to put my first wife aside."

Yuuri frowned. The more he heard, the more he thought he wouldn't have liked the younger Wolfgang at all. He seemed foolish and heartless, and no less ambitious than the Aristocrats. How he'd managed to change so much, Yuuri didn't know, but he was interested in finding out.

"I was not present for Wolfram's birth. Conrart is right to be angry about that," the Captain observed. "Even as King Consort, I was unsatisfied with my duties. I disliked the court, and I grew weary of Stoffel's continued influence. I had thought that in marrying Cecilie, his power would be transferred to me, but that was not the case. I escaped the court as much as possible, and was out at sea with my former Captain when Wolfram was born. I couldn't have known that he would come early, but then I should have had more of a care for my new wife. I should have stayed with her instead of focusing so much on my own pleasure.

"Regardless, I returned to the castle as soon as I received word. I was elated to have a son. It is every father's dream to have a son to follow in his footsteps, and I had been married to Elenora for over seventy years without one. Wolfram was my greatest joy. Soon, I thought, I would take him out to sea and share with him all the things I knew of the world. Of course, we know now that Wolfram never would have made an able sailor. In any case, he preferred his mother's company to mine even in infancy, and Conrart was fiercely protective of him."

"Conrad never talks about you, even when I ask him," Yuuri admitted, taking another sip of wine.

"I don't expect he would. He never begrudged his father for leaving, but he begrudged me for trying to take his place, and for leaving Wolfram when he was so young."

Yuuri hesitated before voicing the question whose answer he wanted most to hear. "Why did you leave him?"

Wolfgang drank his wine in silence, seeming to consider his answer carefully. Yuuri didn't know if it was because he was trying to make excuses for himself, or if the situation had been that complicated. He knew Conrart's father had left to seek his own legacy - a poor excuse for leaving one's wife and child, if he were to be honest with himself. He wanted to believe that Wolfgang hadn't left for a similar reason - for his own piece of mind, and for that of his husband.

"I'm sure you realize by now that those in positions of power are not without their enemies," he answered, speaking a bit slower than he had before, as if to help Yuuri understand. "The Bielefeld's have not always been the kindest allies. Upon my father's passing, Auberon and I inherited more than his estates. We inherited his adversaries. Being pompous men ourselves, we soon made our own. Desperate men will use whatever means necessary to accomplish their goals. From the moment he was born, my enemies chose Wolfram as their target.

"They never harmed him," Wolfgang was quick to reassure him, "but the threat was enough. Cecilie and I went our separate ways after less than five years of marriage, and I kept myself distant from my son. I thought it better that he live in safety with his mother than trouble him with my disputes."

"You still could have seen him," Yuuri insisted. The excuse was better than he'd feared, but not as good as he'd hoped.

"I did see him," the Captain told him with a shallow nod. "I saw him whenever my duties took me to the capital, which admittedly was not that frequently. I visited him for as long as I dared, and attempted to grow closer to him in private while publicly keeping my distance. I hoped one day to take him with me, once he was older, but the more he grew, the more resentful he became, until I could hardly speak to him. He grew close to Conrart, then Gwendal, and I left him where I knew no one could reach him.

"Then there was the war," his story progressed, and his eyes, turned to the portrait of his royal family, darkened.

"Wolfram didn't fight in the war," Yuuri recalled.

"No, he didn't. He wanted to, and would have if my brother had agreed to send him, but I begged Auberon to deny his request."

"Because he was too young?"

"He was barely in his sixties," Wolfgang acknowledged. "I wanted to shelter him from the war in any way I could, so I had my brother deny him the right to join our family in battle, and he remained at the castle."

"Did Wolfram know?"

"I think he suspected, but seeing as Auberon has never been one to explain himself to anyone, I doubt Wolfram received an answer when he questioned his refusal."

"He must have been angry."

"Furious, I imagine," Wolfgang confessed. "I like to think I did him a favor. Wolfram is a soldier, and a good one. Dependable, loyal, and well-trained. But he is not a warrior."

"There's a difference?" Yuuri wondered.

"Oh, yes," the Captain said with a small, strained smile. He'd yet to take his eyes away from the portrait, and he drank his second glass of wine more slowly than the first. "Wolfram is well acquainted with ceremony and the custom of being a soldier, but he knew nothing of warfare when he was sixty, and he knows nothing of it now. He is much as I was at his age. He sees the honor and glory, and fails to realize that there is another side, a different side, where things like honor and glory are meaningless. He is a Prince first, a soldier second, and a warrior least of all."

"What's a warrior then?"

"Conrart is a warrior," Wolfgang told him. "Conrart has experienced a side of war that I hope Wolfram will never see. To Conrart, honor means more than attaining victory, and he knows, just as I do, that there is no glory in killing."

Yuuri stared into his cup, and watched his wine ripple as the boat lurched on another wave. His memories did not fail him, though he wished they would. He could hear Nastia Brandt's hysterical pleas, Merry's screaming, and Ilyich's laughter as if it had happened only yesterday.

"You are a warrior as well, are you not, Your Majesty?" Wolfgang prompted. He looked and sounded as if he knew the answer to that already.

For a split second, the wine in his cup resembled blood, and Yuuri had to swallow the urge to be sick. His hands trembled, his heart pounding erratically. With a deep breath, he set his glass down, and forced the haunting images of Ilyich away.

Instead of agreeing or denying the claim, Yuuri asked, "Which one are you?"

It was Wolfgang's turn to battle his ghosts. Yuuri watched the muscles around his eyes tighten while the lines on his face intensified, highlighting his many scars.

"I am a warrior," he said. He gazed at the portrait of himself, his second wife, and his son and step-children a little longer, then stood from his chair. Quickly, he downed the remainder of his drink, and set it aside to join Yuuri's glass as he moved to his desk. "Do you smoke, Your Majesty?"

Thrown off by the sudden change in topic, Yuuri stumbled over a reply. "Uhh, occasionally."

He hadn't since he'd returned from Earth, but he wasn't strictly against it. If Wolfgang was going to offer, he saw no reason to refuse.

He almost rose to assist the Captain, but held himself to his seat. He marveled over Wolfgang's adept use of his single arm. He supposed the man had to make the best of what he had, and that he'd learned to adapt over the years since his injury.

From one of the drawers in his desk, Wolfgang retrieved two pipes. He filled each bowl with crushed leaves he took from a small wooden box, then carefully carried them as he returned to the table. Yuuri took one and waited for Wolfgang to retake his chair.

"The herbs come from the Aquene plant," he explained. "The leaves have medicinal properties and are used to soothe the nerves."

Yuuri wondered if it was any more or less dangerous than Earthen alternatives.

"You can still use your magic?" Wolfgang inquired, making a motion with his pipe.

"Yeah," Yuuri replied, confused as first, before he realized Wolfgang was asking him to light it. After a bit of concentration and a flicker of fire, he managed to do just that.

He took his cues from Wolfgang. Smoking a pipe was a practice in sophistication and different from the couple of cigarettes he'd smoked at his father's allowance. The Aquene leaves gave off a particular aroma, more subtle than the scent of tobacco. Even the effect was different. With his father's cigarettes, he'd experienced a curious tug, an impulse for more; the Aquene leaves were simply relaxing. He could almost feel his nerves settling down.

"Bastille," Wolfgang said rather suddenly, back to staring at his portrait of a royal, but not necessarily happy, family.

Yuuri blinked. His first thought was of his and Wolfram's trip to Paris, but he quickly remembered that the name had significance in the Great Demon Kingdom as well. "What about it?" he asked, cautious.

"It was there that I became who I am now," Wolfgang explained. "It was not merely my arm that I lost, but my pride, my vanity," he said, his eyes focused on the picture of his former self. "I lost my youth."

"What happened there?" Yuuri wondered. He shifted in his chair, making himself comfortable. He expected he was about to be gifted with another long story.

"The war was coming to an end," the Captain began. "Conrart had attained a miraculous victory at Luttenberg, at the expense of most of his men, and Susannah Julia had been killed in the service of her medical unit after overusing her magic. Both sides were ready for a truce, however tenuous it might be."

"Then what?"

"I received word that my daughter, Ileana, had been killed."

Startled, Yuuri felt his eyes widen. "By the humans?"

Wolfgang shook his head imperceptively, and frowned. "At first, that's exactly what I thought. I returned to port and rode out to her estate. I questioned her servants, but no one had witnessed her death. One of her maids had gone to her room to wake her that morning, and found her in her bed. There was no sign that anyone had broken in, and no evidence to suggest that any humans were in the area."

"Then who?"

"Her husband."

"She was married?"

"For ten years. She never forgave me for divorcing her mother, but it remained my responsibility to help her find a suitable husband. Eventually, I successfully arranged a match between her and Ehren von Mannheim."

"Mannheim?" Yuuri repeated, beginning to form a clearer idea of where this was going.

"Julius von Mannheim's only son," Wolfgang elaborated. "He was a gifted boy, a true scholar. He prided himself on his learning in theology. He was also his father's heir. One day he would be head of the family."

"Julius agreed to it?"

Wolfgang spared him an ironic twist of his lips. "Julius and I thought we were bridging our differences. The Bielefelds and the Mannheims have never been the greatest of friends. Auberon sought to make peace with them, but since he has no children, he looked to mine for the arrangement. I could not have found a better match for Ileana unless I had allowed her to choose a husband herself."

Yuuri wondered if he regretted the decision now, if Wolfgang wished he'd let her choose, but he kept his silence and continued to listen.

"My daughter and Julius' son got along well. We were all pleased. Ileana had no complaints about my choice and even wrote to inform me that she was content as Ehren's wife. She never hinted to either her mother or myself that Ehren might mistreat her."

"But he did," Yuuri assumed.

"As far as I am aware, he treated her with the respect she deserved, and theirs was a relatively happy marriage, until Ehren began associating himself with the wrong sort," Wolfgang replied, puffing on his pipe. "During the investigation into her death, I found Ileana's journal. She had recorded conversations she had with Ehren concerning his friendships and developing beliefs. It seems he was involving himself with a small group of Deniers."

"Deniers?"

"People who claimed that the Great One's soul was not truly housed within the Temple, but that it had been reborn, and that the kingdom had been at the mercy of corrupt priestesses for four thousand years. They had grown displeased with the course of the war, and were seeking someone to blame. In criticizing Cecilie, they looked to the one who had designated her as Queen. They could not accept that His Majesty the Great One would choose such objectionable candidates for so long, and they accused the High Priestess and shrine maidens of the Temple of making false claims."

"But that's not true."

"You and I both know that, yes," Wolfgang agreed, "but at that point the soul of the Great Sage had not made an appearance in this world for over two thousand years, and His Majesty the Great One had never spoken to anyone but the High Priestess. People were scared, and angry, and desperate for answers. The kingdom had had a string of ineffective monarchs. We had been experiencing war after war for hundreds of years. The Deniers' claims seemed credible, though their beliefs were never widespread."

"And Ehren believed them?"

"Ehren had his eccentricities. Ileana wrote that he became increasingly unstable during the final year of the war. They argued, heatedly, about his correspondences with the Deniers. I suspect he began to see her as a threat to his great plan. Her last entry described a conversation she overheard in which Ehren and his accomplices were discussing the layout of Blood Pledge Castle. Ileana was suspicious of his intentions, Ehren was afraid she would approach the authorities with what she knew, and so he smothered her."

Yuuri could only imagine the effect his daughter's murder had had on Wolfgang. It was enough that Greta had been threatened and forced to witness Wolfram's near rape, and that Merry would have been killed by Ilyich if not for the inexplicable power that had protected him. If either of them ever came to further harm, Yuuri didn't know what he would do, but he suspected the culprit would go the way of Ilyich.

"What did he do after he killed her?" Yuuri asked, though he supposed Ehren's destination wasn't too hard to figure out, given what he already knew.

"He fled," Wolfgang said. He sat in his chair, still staring at the royal portrait, but it didn't seem like he was seeing it. It was as if he were looking elsewhere, consumed by his memories. "As soon as I realized what must have happened, I had my men out searching for him and we uncovered his traitorous plot. He and his supporters planned to infiltrate Blood Pledge Castle, where they intended to kill Cecilie, Stoffel, Gwendal, Conrart, and Wolfram, and destroy the soul the High Priestess meant to implant into the next king."

Yuuri's eyes widened more with the revelation, and his mouth fell open in shock.

He didn't know what he'd thought he'd hear when he finally learned about the happenings in Bastille, but he certainly hadn't expected the event would be so closely tied in with his own existence. In all of his teachings, Gunter had never once mentioned it, and Gwendal and Conrad barely even spoke of their former step-father, much less did they discuss his role in the war. The only thing he'd ever heard Conrad say about Bastille had been against Wolfgang's actions. Did that mean his godfather had no idea why it had happened?

Looking back on his first day in this world, a specific memory was triggered, a bit of information that had seemed more or less trivial at the time, merely a small part of a larger explanation, but which now sent his thoughts spiraling. Perhaps Gunter _had_ referenced the events in Bastille when he'd explained why his soul had been taken to Earth to be born. What was it he'd said?

"… _because of an assassin's plan to take your life…"_

Was this what he'd meant?

"Would he have been able to get into the castle?" he wondered.

"Quite easily. Only I and my men knew of his crimes. He would have been greeted warmly, especially since his father had just returned from the battlefield to witness the signing of a peace treaty."

"What did you do?"

"I sent a message to Cecilie by the fastest means possible, and took some of my men to follow Ehren," Wolfgang continued. "We found him two hours outside of the capital, in the town of Bastille. I was angry enough by the death of my daughter. The danger to my son's life was more than I could bear. While my men rounded up his followers, I sought out Ehren and killed him."

Yuuri doubted it was as simple as that. "How did you kill him?" he asked, fearing he did not want to know the answer, but too curious not to find out.

Wolfgang paused and removed his pipe from his mouth. He turned back to Yuuri with eyes that burned with a remembered rage. For once he was smiling an honest smile, but it was dark and evil, almost bloodthirsty. "Do you know what it means to be drawn and quartered, Your Majesty?"

Yuuri gulped uneasily and gave no reply. Of course he knew. He'd been studying enough over the past few months to be aware of such a gruesome sentencing. To be hanged, drawn, and quartered had been the penalty for high treason in medieval England, and it was an experience he would not wish for himself, his prisoners, or any of his enemies.

He assumed Wolfgang had forgone dragging Ehren on a hurdle to any specific place for the murder; in such a heightened emotional state, Wolfgang had most likely killed him where he'd found him. Even without the details being provided, Yuuri could easily imagine the rest of it. Wolfgang would not have bothered stringing Ehren up to be hanged, nor would he have wasted time to strangle him until he was half dead. He would have skipped to the worst part while Ehren was fully conscious and aware. Disembowelment, emasculation, only for the severed parts to be burned - most likely by magic, if Wolfgang had actually burned them - then the beheading, followed by the cleaving of the body into quarters.

Somewhere along the line he would have received the injury to his arm that had required it to be amputated. Perhaps Ehren had struggled and successfully wounded him before Wolfgang had gone in for the kill.

He could understand Wolfgang's temporary madness. He hadn't been in his right mind himself when he'd killed Ilyich; he was sure Wolfgang's anger and grief had been even more extreme, losing his daughter and then nearly losing his son. It was enough to drive any man wild.

Yet Yuuri was hard-pressed to condone the man's actions. "Do you regret it?" he asked.

Wolfgang's depraved smile was gone as quickly as all his others, his expression once again blank. "No, Your Majesty, not a moment of it. I felt no remorse during my trial and I feel no remorse for it now. He would have killed my son."

Yuuri couldn't have argued if he'd wanted to. He knew what it was like to feel powerless to protect his family, and to make hasty decisions because of that sense of powerlessness. He'd killed Ilyich to protect Wolfram, believing his enemy still had the ability to harm him. In that respect, he and Wolfgang had something in common.

"Do you regret killing the man from Isidore?" the Captain returned his question to him.

"Yes," Yuuri said without hesitating. "Every day."

"Then you are the better man."

Yuuri didn't know if it was true, but he remembered Wolfram saying something similar soon after they'd been reunited. Truth be told, he didn't know what made the better man; he simply followed his conscience and did what he thought was right under the circumstances. Ilyich had been a momentary lapse in judgment he didn't intend to repeat, though he couldn't help but wonder if his convictions would change if faced with such an incident again. How could he claim he would never kill another man when he'd already murdered one despite his insistence that violence wasn't the answer?

He was afraid of the possibility. He was afraid of who this war was turning him into, of losing control over himself and being unable to prevent another violation of his beliefs. The fact of the matter was that he couldn't say for certain what he would and wouldn't do when faced with any given situation. He could only act when the situation presented itself, and hope he came out of it with his morality intact.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Wolfgang said. He raised his pipe back to his mouth, his eyes holding a penitent gleam. "I should not have spoken so carelessly about the past. You are still not yet accustomed to such a violent world."

"I am," Yuuri insisted, only now realizing that he'd gone without smoking his own pipe for the last few minutes, enthralled and horrified by Wolfgang's story. "I'm a warrior, too," he reminded him quietly, his gaze focused on the tabletop as his thoughts grew red with blood. "You said so yourself."

One corner of Wolfgang's mouth twitch, but it did not rise. "So I did," he agreed as a cloud of fragrant smoke curled around him.

Yuuri could think of nothing else to say, and so he settled into silence. Wolfgang seemed content to leave him to his thoughts, smoking his pipe for a little while longer, before exchanging it for the glass he'd discarded earlier, filling it with more wine and offering Yuuri the same. Yuuri accepted, drinking greedily and hoping the alcohol would wash away all the savage images.

It wasn't that he didn't understand this world, or the people in it. He did, more so than Wolfram and his advisers probably realized. Japan itself had a violent history, and humanity had been plagued by violence and warfare since the moment man had come into existence. He simply didn't approve of it. He'd always considered himself to be peaceful and unthreatening, but when he looked back he saw that even he could give in to violent impulses - fighting with his older brother, punching his coach and being kicked off the baseball team, slapping Wolfram simply for insulting his mother, not to mention all the times he'd transformed.

Most of his threats had come in the form of a different consciousness. But was it so different, or was it merely a manifestation of all the negativity he buried within himself, the violence and anger he tried so hard not to act upon? Perhaps he was nothing more than proof that all men, even those who preached peace and acceptance, found their true nature in violence.

Yuuri frowned and continued to drink, growing increasingly doubtful and bitter toward his own thoughts and decisions. In the end, his pacifistic ways really were meaningless, weren't they? He could talk with his enemies all he wanted, and form a peaceful ideal of the world, but that's all it was - a dream, not reality. The real world was a dark, cruel place, where husbands smothered their wives, and fathers were forced to defend their children with gruesome murder and revenge, and armies ransacked villages and left only a single child alive.

It was what Gwendal had told him from the beginning - his foolish beliefs would get him nowhere.

It was what Conrad had protected him from for so long, salvaging his innocence in the face of so much pain in order to preserve Julia's pure spirit.

It was what Wolfram had believed since childhood, what drove him to seek control, what pitted them against one another as they worked to better the kingdom.

Maybe Wolfram was right. Maybe a majority of people couldn't be trusted. Maybe he _was_ being too kind, showing too much mercy, and letting his people suffer for it.

He'd wanted so much to be loved by his people - and, in truth, the rest of the world - that he'd ignored the fact that control came best to those who were feared.

A flash out of the corner of his eye interrupted his thoughts, and Yuuri couldn't be more thankful for the distraction, looking around for the source in the hopes of easing his doubts back into the far reaches of his mind. His attention was drawn to Wolfgang's only remaining hand, where a ring of gold rested on his third finger, impressed with an image indecipherable from across the table. It caught the firelight when the boat rocked and the lanterns swung.

Wolfgang noticed the direction of his gaze, and set his wine glass down to extend his hand for further examination. "It is my family's signet ring," he explained. "All my letters are stamped with this seal. I'm sure you've seen it on correspondences with my brother."

Yuuri nodded, only vaguely familiar with the design. He hadn't paid much attention to family seals before, though he was beginning to recognize their importance. He would never be able to look at anything stamped with the royal wolf of Isidore without anything more than skepticism.

The Bielefeld seal, he noticed, was the proudest of birds, an eagle, with its wings spread to symbolize both strength and protection.

"Wolfram doesn't have one," he observed. When he'd received letters from Wolfram at the front, the wax had always been pressed with the image of a lion.

"Auberon won't allow it. He consented to Wolfram taking the family name only because I requested it and the Great One refused to accept Wolfram with any other. Had Auberon not relented, Wolfram would have been nameless, neither a Bielefeld nor a Spitzweg."

Yuuri's heart went out to his husband, as it often did when he learned of his past. Wolfram put so much emphasis on the pride he held in being a full-blooded demon, and a member of one of the oldest full-blooded families in the kingdom, that he ached to imagine how Wolfram would feel to have no name or identity at all.

"Even so," Wolfgang continued, returning his hand to his glass, "this will be passed to Wolfram when I die. All of my possessions are his by right, and I intend to see that he receives every one of them."

Again, Yuuri wondered if he were misjudging people. He'd thought, due mostly to the influence of others, that Wolfgang cared little for his son, though he'd hoped that wasn't the case. Now he saw with his own eyes that Wolfgang loved his son in his own way, more deeply and passionately than either he or Wolfram realized. That passion, he knew, was something Wolfgang and Wolfram shared. It made Yuuri smile to find at least one recognizable similarity between father and son.

"It's late, Your Majesty," his father-in-law stated. "You seem tired. Perhaps you should return to your bed."

Yuuri nodded his agreement, setting his glass down with the pipe he'd been given to smoke. He stood from his chair, watching Wolfgang mimic his actions across the table. They stared at one another for a long moment, and Yuuri - though his mind still swirled with doubts and fears - felt as if he'd gained something important with this interaction. How it would inevitably effect him would depend on his actions and decisions in the future.

Wolfgang escorted him to the door, opening it for him to exit through. Yuuri thanked him, but stopped when another presence greeted him face-to-face on the other side.

Conrad stood there, as alert and as dutiful as ever, but his head was slightly lowered, as if he'd been listening intently to what was occurring within, and had much to think about because of it.

"Conrart," Wolfgang said. His surprise over seeing him there was evident in the sound of his voice. There was a slight pause, in which Yuuri watched his eyes shift through various emotions, until they settled on something akin to hope. "How much did you hear?" he asked.

Conrad looked at him, obviously struggling with himself, but the usual reluctance he showed to speak with the man he refused to accept as Wolfram's father wasn't there. "Enough," was his short response.

Yuuri found a smile. He lifted one of his hands to Conrad's shoulder to give it an encouraging pat. "You two should talk," he said. When his godfather met him with an incredulous expression, Yuuri stepped around him so that they were no longer blocking the other's way. "Don't worry about me. I'm going to bed."

He left them at the door, glancing over his shoulder as he made his way down the hall to see if his suggestion was followed. It wasn't until he arrived at his stateroom that Conrad moved, stepping into Wolfgang's office. Wolfgang shut the door, and Yuuri was left to the silence of the deserted hall, and the crashing of the wild, untamed sea.

Wolfram was exactly where he'd left him, wrapped in the blankets and curled on his side. Yuuri was quick to divest himself of his shirt and joined him, pulling his husband into his arms and burying his nose into Wolfram's hair. Wolfram mumbled something in sleep and shifted closer, his warm breath fanning over the skin of Yuuri's neck and chest.

Yuuri closed his eyes and dreamed - of violence and of despair, but also of hope and love.

* * *

The crown he chose that morning was not the official state crown he'd received on his wedding day. That, he'd left at home for fear that something might happen to it during the course of their voyage. Instead, he wore another of the many headpieces taken from storage in the castle treasure vaults, made entirely of diamonds. It sat proudly upon his hair, sparkling with each minute turn of his head. He'd been told it had last been worn by one of the previous Demon Queens, produced in commemoration of her victory over one human country or another, but the subtle curving shape and wreathed design suited his face better than the larger crowns worn by Kings.

Wolfram closely examined himself in the mirror of their stateroom. So engrossed was he in his preparations for the coming meeting that his battle against seasickness was currently the furthest thing from his mind.

His growing hair was twisted up and fastened to the back of his head by diamond pins, leaving his face unobstructed but for his bangs. His uniform was new and tailored to his frame, black trimmed with silver. The sleeves of his jacket stopped at his elbows, where a pair of elegant white gloves completed the journey to conceal his forearms and hands. A silver cape was attached to his shoulders by jeweled clasps, hanging down the length of his body to trail along the floor. At his collar was a silk ascot, decorated with a floral brooch in a design that Yuuri had said was called a fleur-de-lis on Earth, popular in royal insignias.

Everything about his outfit, from his crown to his silk stockings, and from his jacket to the heeled shoes on his feet, had been chosen to compliment his status and to exemplify his wealth and power. He had no doubts that Lyron would be employing similar methods, and expected the human king to be dressed as lavishly as his treasury would allow. If he and Yuuri hoped to impress their adversary and prove themselves to be not just young, but worthy, then they would have to utilize whatever means were available to them. At the moment, the simplest option was to don extravagant clothing.

Despite the success he felt he'd managed to achieve through this presentation of fine cloth and expensive jewelry - a design he'd worked on himself with the assistance of a master tailor - Wolfram was not quite satisfied with his appearance. Their travels had left him feeling quite ill, and his complexion was proof enough. His skin, naturally fair but normally tinged with a healthy pink glow, was at present abnormally pale. The stark white was a far cry from the look of perfection he'd been aiming for.

"Wolfram," Yuuri called from somewhere behind him, sounding as if he were unable to decide whether he should be amused or impatient. "You look fine."

"You're obligated to say that," he replied in a grumble, pinching his cheeks to force some color into them.

"You think I'd lie to you?"

"I think your definition of 'fine' is different from mine."

Yuuri sighed. "We're already late."

With a roll of his eyes and a huff of annoyance, Wolfram turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is it my fault a freak storm decided to delay us?"

"No, but you could be a little quicker about getting ready."

Yuuri hardly had room to talk, but Wolfram decided not to remind him of the fuss he'd made that morning, or his constant recitation of "Are you sure I look alright?" as he'd gotten dressed himself not too long ago.

His husband looked more regal, more like a king than Wolfram could ever remember seeing him, except perhaps when he'd left the castle in full royal armor. Yuuri's outfit was a match to Wolfram's in color, but designed to suit his more 'masculine' tastes, if they could be considered so. Wolfram would never understand the manner in which Yuuri separated things into masculine and feminine. He'd thought that five years in this world would cure Yuuri of the notion that ruffs and lace were strictly for females, but he had so far been disappointed.

Yuuri's crown was far less decorative than his own, a band of burnished silver widening at points six times around the circumference to suspend small, but perfectly cut diamonds. Embedded into the band itself, centered between thin, embossed swirls, were twelve evenly placed rubies. Its simplicity suited Yuuri well, even if Wolfram would have preferred for him to wear a headpiece that was a little more elaborate.

His jacket made up for his simplistic crown. It fit him wonderfully, highlighting his widening shoulders and thicker chest. Wide bands of silver bordered the hems, his stiff collar, and the cuffs of his sleeves, while a column of nine silver buttons, separated into smaller lines of three, glinted brightly on either side of his chest. He wore a cape and gloves as well, but both were shorter than Wolfram's. The cape was red and came to a stop around his hips instead of reaching the floor, while his white gloves ended at his wrists. In the place of breeches, stockings and shoes, Yuuri wore full length pants, lined with silver on the outer seam, and boots of black leather.

Wolfram was unable to decide whether he preferred Yuuri formally dressed, or wearing nothing at all. Baseball and sword training had given Yuuri a rather nice body, one Wolfram was not averse to observing whenever Yuuri was bare - though he _did_ try to keep his gaze from becoming _too_ inappropriate, an effort that was being made in vain more and more frequently. On the other hand, Yuuri's royal coloring and the royal black clothing he wore to further accent it were appealing in their own right, even with so little skin left exposed. It would be a lie to say he didn't find the sight of his husband in fine clothing just as attractive - if not more so - than the sight of him without. Considering Yuuri had such inexpensive and common tastes, the chances Wolfram had to see him like this were incredibly rare.

He must have been staring intently, because Yuuri eventually shifted and adopted an uncomfortable expression. "What?" he asked, looking at Wolfram uneasily.

Wolfram shook his head to banish some not-so-innocent thoughts concerning Yuuri's gloved hands, blushing despite the fact that Yuuri was unable to read his mind. "Nothing," he said, forcing himself to focus. "Shouldn't we be going?"

Yuuri nodded but didn't move right away. He looked at Wolfram seriously, then bridged the gap between them and took him by the arms, leaning down to claim a kiss that nearly left Wolfram breathless. Yuuri smiled at him when he broke away, and Wolfram found one of his husband's hands cupping the side of his face.

"Now who's taking their time?" he teased, but he leaned into the gentle caress. The glove was soft against his cheek, covering the rough calluses that had developed on Yuuri's hands.

"I think I should be able to kiss you before going to meet Lyron," Yuuri told him.

"You can kiss me whenever you want," Wolfram replied, "so long as you don't make a spectacle of me in public." He was surprised that he was able to conjure a playful smile when they would soon be making their way to be introduced to their powerful enemy, but he supposed these last few years had allowed him to acquire some of Yuuri's warmth.

Yuuri smiled back and affectionately brushed their noses together, before dropping his hand to grab one of Wolfram's, lifting it to place on the crook of his elbow. "Shall we?" he asked, appearing to enjoy the gentlemanly act.

Wolfram consented to the escort with a nod, readily falling into his part as the King's spouse. For once he didn't view his subordinate role with derision. He was simply happy for Yuuri's support, and content that he'd been able to join him and return it.

Gwendal, Conrart, as his father met them on deck, each dressed in their most formal uniforms, heading a large retinue of guards. Yozak was noticeably absent, but Wolfram figured he'd been sent to scout the terrain and seek out any sign that Lyron did not intend for this to be a conciliatory meeting. If there had been plans put in place contrary to what they'd been led to believe, they would soon be made aware of them.

"It seems our escort has already arrived," Gwendal informed them, his tone even but wary. "We should disembark promptly."

Yuuri's head bobbed in agreement, and they were then filing down the gangplank. His father and Gwendal went first, as if to shield them from any foul moves that might greet them, parting and allowing them to be viewed directly only when they came upon their noble escort. Conrart walked closely behind them. Wolfram though his second brother seemed anxious, and that he wasn't putting as much effort into hiding it as he usually did; either that, or his current anxiety was too great not to slip through his careful control. It made him all the more aware of the dangers this trip could pose.

Waiting to greet them and lead them to Lyron's southern most castle was a young lord, no older than Yuuri. His dark green clothing and half-cape of deep brown were of a very high quality, and the collar of gold, pearls, emeralds and sapphires draped over his shoulders gave him the appearance of someone important. Wolfram was sure the collar's wolf medallion, whose eyes glittered with rare black stones, was supposed to signify something, but being unfamiliar with Isidore's court, he was unsure what exactly it was. He could only watch the young man lower into a bow, one of his moss colored eyes being obscured by a piece of his ash brown hair, which he brushed aside as he straightened.

Wolfram felt Yuuri stiffen beside him and spared a quick look in his direction. His husband paled, his mouth turning into a frown that was more frightened than angry, while his eyes widened ever so slightly, sparking with what Wolfram thought might be recognition.

Confusion quickly set in, but Wolfram had no time to question Yuuri's reaction.

"Your Majesties," the young man greeted them in a voice that lacked warmth. "Welcome to Isidore. I am Louis Adla, Duke of Braith. His Majesty has sent me to escort you to the castle," he said, looking between them for a moment before his eyes settled on Yuuri. "You are quite a bit later than I had anticipated. His Majesty was expecting you at high noon."

Yuuri failed to reply. Again, Wolfram glanced at him in confusion, as well as developing concern, feeling as if there was something he was missing about this entire encounter. When he saw the muscles of Yuuri's throat work in a heavy swallow, he squeezed the inner part of his elbow, but Yuuri gave no response to the gesture.

"We encountered an unexpected storm," Wolfram explained, reacting as quickly as he could to Yuuri's discomfort and speaking for him. He returned his gaze to the young Duke, hoping to see something that might clue him in to Yuuri's sudden unease. Nothing jumped out at him; the Duke was without a sword, and he seemed welcoming enough, if not a bit distant.

"Winter was especially harsh this year. I am afraid we've yet to escape its grasp," Louis said. For someone so young, he was remarkably cold and stiff. "If you will follow me," he continued without further comment. "We have a carriage waiting for you."

Yuuri was cognizant enough to step forward when Louis moved to lead them away from the port, though they followed some paces behind. Unable to contain his worry, Wolfram leant his head closer to Yuuri's, dropping his voice into a whisper. "What is it?" he asked.

His husband swallowed a second time, and took a steadying breath. "He was there. With Ilyich," he revealed in short, broken sentences. "The night Merry's parents died."

Wolfram said nothing, but he squeezed Yuuri's arm again and prayed that their journey had not been a complete mistake.

He couldn't say he was surprised, but the fact that Lyron had sent someone that Yuuri would recognize to greet them told him he was still in the mood to taunt.

They were guided to a beautiful carriage of glossy, dark wood and red velvet interior. A gentleman usher opened the door for them, and Louis stood aside to allow them to climb in. Wolfram was intent on seeing that Yuuri sat down first, but Yuuri had other ideas. He removed Wolfram's hand from his elbow and held it, motioning for him to proceed him in the carriage. Wolfram frowned slightly but did as his husband willed. Yuuri stepped in next, taking a seat beside him. Louis joined them after making sure Gwendal and the others were provided with horses. Once the door to the carriage had been closed, they were on their way.

No one spoke. Louis appraised them from his spot opposite them. Wolfram felt altogether disturbed by the probing gaze, and though he would have liked to look away and focus his attention on something else - such as Yuuri - he didn't feel comfortable enough to take his eyes off of Louis for even a moment. The resplendent Duke hardly looked the part of a soldier, but if he'd been there the night of Ilyich's death, then he must have something to do with the knights in black - whether he was one of them or merely served in the capacity of an adviser, he didn't know.

Either way, Wolfram thought there was something wrong with his whole demeanor. He wasn't able to put his finger on it, but there was something in his eyes - or perhaps something that his eyes lacked - that spoke of danger. The fact that both he and Yuuri were more or less locked in a confined space with him, without their swords, and Louis wasn't even bothering with the inane prattle a typical escort would engage them in for the sake of conversation made Wolfram's stomach turn. He sat straight with a rigid back, doing his best not to reveal his agitation.

Yuuri didn't seem to notice, or else he was lost to an inner turmoil all his own. He looked out the window as the carriage rattled on, his grasp still firm on Wolfram's hand. Occasionally, Yuuri's hold would tighten around his, squeezing Wolfram's fingers almost painfully, before going slack again moments later. Wolfram wanted to soothe him, to take him into his arms and do all in his power to rid Yuuri of his memories, or talk him through his pain at the very least, but he didn't dare let his guard down, and told himself there would be time enough for comfort later.

The carriage rambled through the large port town to the castle, which had been visible from their ship but remained some distance away. The town was like any other, so similar to ones Wolfram had visited or traveled through previously that it seemed there was hardly any difference between the Great Demon Kingdom and Isidore. He could sense the energy from the open market, smell the garbage and decay, and the pungent aroma of bodies crowding in to one place to purchase their wares. Somewhere behind them, a church bell rang to announce the time. At least from here, Isidore seemed to be a peaceful and prosperous place. He discerned no fear, no misery or sorrow in its people.

A noise from beside him intruded upon his thoughts. A gasp, and a sound not unlike choking had him abandoning his conviction to keep his eyes on Louis as he turned to his husband.

Yuuri's wan face had gone almost green and his eyes were wide with horror.

Chancing a glance out the window, Wolfram easily saw what it was that had caused his alarm. They were now approaching the gatehouse leading to the castle. Atop the spires, in a gruesome display of power, were five rotting heads.

Even Wolfram, familiar as he thought he was with brutality, felt his heart nearly stop at the sight.

Only one of them was fresh, browning with the blood that had oozed from the stump of neck after being struck from the body, its mouth gaped open in terror. The rest had turned black, aged and decayed by the sun, but they were still recognizably heads, though the faces could no longer be distinguished. All five were missing eyes, most likely already plucked out by birds.

"They were all traitors."

Wolfram tore his eyes away at the sound of Louis' cool voice. The young human had the audacity to smile at their dread, though it was like no smile Wolfram had ever seen before. There was absolutely nothing behind it, no amusement, no pleasure, no mocking glint. Even his father, as emotionless as he often appeared, smiled in such a way that there seemed to be _something_ behind it, insignificant as that something may be. Louis' was nothing more than a cold curve of the lips.

Wolfram's hand shook within Yuuri's, and he swallowed down a sick tickle that suddenly crept up the back of his throat. Something was wrong. Louis was no ordinary young man, no ordinary duke. Something was missing in him, in his thoughts, in his reactions.

Wolfram had a feeling it was his humanity.

He had no time to respond; the carriage jolted to a stop soon after they passed through the gatehouse, and the same gentleman usher came around to open the door. This time Yuuri did not insist that he go first, and stumbled out of the carriage to take in deep gulps of open air. Wolfram followed him, descending as quickly but as gracefully as possible, taking his husband by the arm to steady him. Conrart joined them in an instant, coming to hover by Yuuri as Louis stepped to the ground.

"Your Majesty," Conrart began, though he already seemed aware of the cause of the problem, gently guiding Yuuri so that his back was facing the direction of the gatehouse, and the rotting heads were no longer in view.

Yuuri shook his head at them both, waving Conrart off, but taking one of Wolfram's hands into another death grip. Wolfram let him, wishing he could do more than stand there and feel useless.

Without so much as a glance, Louis turned to begin making his way toward the castle entrance hall. "His Majesty awaits," he said.

They followed sedately, Yuuri silent and ashen, Wolfram watchful and shaky. Gwendal, Conrart, and Wolfram's father trailed behind them. None of them said a word.

The castle, like the town, seemed to hold no air of foreboding. It was a castle like any other castle, most likely built to guard the coastal town - one of Isidore's few - from sea invaders. There were opulent rugs and decorative tapestries, ancient suits of armor standing in wall embrasures, and warm, inviting light streaming through tall, mullioned glass windows. The royal guards and servants scuttled about in uniforms of blue and dark gray, going about their duties as diligently as one could expect.

There was no sign of the black knights, but then Wolfram hadn't expected there would be. They were Lyron's specialized fighting force, and therefore a carefully guarded secret.

By the time they reached the presence chamber, Yuuri had recovered as much as he was going to until they could be left alone and he had the time to appropriately process what he'd seen. Wolfram's hand moved back to the crook of his elbow, squeezing every now and then to lend his support. Yuuri's gaze remained focused ahead, but the tension in his brow eased and his expression was no longer aghast. A fierce determination had overtaken him, hardening his features as they were led amongst the royal court of Isidore.

The great, long room was filled with nobles in their finery - men in their doublets of crushed velvet, and women in their stain gowns. There was a low ebb of conversation. Whispers followed them down the long, ceremonial carpet, and eyes locked on them with interest and uncertainty. Wolfram heard the words 'demon king' and 'double black' repeated more than once. When he allowed himself a quick glance to the side, he saw a group of young women, all staring at Yuuri with looks of absolute fear.

It was a reaction typical of humans, but one that Wolfram had not seen for quite a long time.

"Their Majesties King Yuuri and Prince Wolfram of the Great Demon Kingdom!" a court crier announced their arrival with the heavy banging of a staff against the floor.

There was a flutter of movement as the entire court lowered themselves into the appropriate bows and curtsies, leaving Wolfram with no one to look at but the two figures at the head of the room.

There Lyron sat on his glorious throne, a golden diadem around his head. He was a tall man, and broad - Gwendal's size or more - clothed in purple, the customary color for human royalty. His hair was dark brown, long and twisted into a plait over one shoulder, while his bangs framed a strong jaw and stiff chin. His eyes were the palest blue Wolfram had ever seen, cold like Louis', but in a different manner entirely. Louis' held no heart, no soul; Lyron's held a ruthless gleam.

In a chair beside him sat a woman Wolfram assumed was his Queen. Her hair, platinum blond from what little he could see, was bound up in a snood laced with pearls, and adorned with an ornamental headdress of gold and inlaid opals. She wore of gown of powder blue over white, decorated with a brooch of opals at the top of the bodice. She was thin and pale, with turquoise eyes that, while they seemed less harsh than her husband's, gazed at them without a single shred of happiness.

"Yuuri," Lyron said, dropping his title as if they were already intimately familiar with one another. He stood from his chair and descended the throne with a wicked smile, opening his arms to pull Yuuri into what would have been a friendly embrace from anyone else.

Yuuri tensed at the greeting, and though he did not pull away, he also didn't lift his arms to return it. His mouth set into a firm line as his jaw tightened noticeably.

Lyron gave no sign that he was aware of Yuuri's vexation. Wolfram thought it was more likely that he was ignoring it. He wouldn't be surprised if Lyron were taking pleasure from their reactions.

"Welcome to my kingdom," he continued as he pulled away, holding Yuuri at arm's length for a few moments before releasing him and making a sweeping gesture toward the Queen. "Please, greet my wife," he said, before his smile grew predatory as he added, "and I shall greet yours."

Wolfram didn't have the time to feel affronted by the reference, or to see how Yuuri responded to it. Lyron stepped before him and took him gently by the arms, leaning down and in too swiftly for Wolfram to back away.

Their lips met. For an instant, Wolfram stood frozen, unsure how to respond. Then, he remembered Gunter's lecture before their departure, in which he'd explained the traditional greeting of Isidore. A king would embrace his equal - an emperor or another king - in friendship, then the two would exchanged a kiss with the other's wife. The fact that Wolfram was a man and not a woman didn't seem to matter. In human countries where the succession was based on blood, relationships between two men were permitted, but marriage was not. Continuing the bloodline, legitimately, was far too important. In the eyes of these people, Wolfram, as Yuuri's spouse, was in no different a position than Lyron's wife, and should therefore be greeted as such.

The details, however much the might make sense to Lyron and his court, were lost to Wolfram. He did his best not to react on instinct, and managed not to shove Lyron away and cause a public uproar, but he didn't return the kiss. He stood rigid until Lyron freed him, then fought the urge to stare open mouthed and wide-eyed.

Yuuri didn't fair as well in that battle, looking at Lyron with an expression of mingled shock and rage. Wolfram, aware enough to realize that an outburst from either of them would not serve them well, hastily attempted to diffuse the situation, taking the opportunity presented when Lyron turned back to his wife to inch closer to Yuuri. He grabbed his hand and squeezed a warning, silently telling him that this was neither the time nor the place to grow possessive and overly-protective.

"Bryndis," Lyron crooned to his wife, ascending the throne again to take her by the hand, guiding her down to stand before them. "Won't you greet the Demon King?"

Lyron might view this all as fun and games, but Bryndis most certainly did not. Wolfram almost felt sorry for her, if he hadn't thought the human belief that double blacks were cursed was utterly ludicrous. It seemed obvious to him that Bryndis was a firm believer in such nonsense. Her eyes widened when Lyron dragged her down the steps of the dais, and she shook her head at him hopelessly.

"Come now," Lyron said, "don't be shy. Greet the king properly."

"It's really not necessary," Yuuri spoke up for the first time since they'd left the ship. He looked uncomfortable, picking up on Bryndis' fear and wishing to spare her.

"I assure you, Yuuri, it is quite necessary," Lyron replied, his wild grin back in place. "Now, Bryndis," he told the Queen, and released her arm roughly.

She looked at him in agony, but didn't argue, lowering her head in compliance before leaning up to do as she'd been told. Wolfram couldn't even find it in himself to feel jealous, the sight was so pitiful. Her lips brushed Yuuri's for only a fraction of a second. Yuuri certainly wasn't going to force anything better, allowing her to break away from him with no sign that he felt insulted by her behavior. Knowing Yuuri, he probably felt guilty about it.

"Your Majesty," Bryndis greeted him quietly, stepping back a safe distance and lowering her eyes to the floor.

It was enough to satisfy Lyron, for he said nothing else to her and went back to conversing with Yuuri.

"You've no idea how much I've looked forward to meeting you," he said, pausing to shift his eyes toward Wolfram. "Both of you."

Wolfram was too unsettled by the pale eyes staring at him to respond. Yuuri didn't seem to be fairing much better.

"I'm afraid the day is nearly at an end," Lyron continued. "I had much prepared for you, as I thought you'd be arriving at noon, but it seems that will have to wait for another day. You must be tired from your journey. I'll have you escorted to your rooms immediately. Tomorrow, we talk," he announced. Stepping away, he motioned for Louis with his hand. "My Lord of Braith, if you will please show His Majesty and the Prince to their accommodations."

Louis bowed and began to head back down the long carpet. "This way, Your Majesties."

Wolfram didn't know what to think. He'd expected their initial confrontation would have been longer, but Lyron was already dismissing them. He felt his head spin from the swiftness of it; no sooner had he become accustomed with the sight of their enemy than they were being led away from him.

He couldn't move. He stood gawking at Lyron until a hand grabbed his arm, and then Yuuri was steering him away, following Louis at a brisk pace. The ladies and gentlemen of the court conducted their obeisance again, as Yuuri and Wolfram were led away from the human king.

The entire length of the carpet, Wolfram felt an icy stare affixed to his back. He tried to ignore both it and the shiver it sent down his spine, but the feeling did not cease until they'd left the presence chamber and turned down another hall.

* * *

"Maybe Gwendal was right. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

The secret passages of the castle at Braith were no secret to Louis, being that it was his castle by the good grace of the King. He'd traversed them many times in the past whenever they'd entertained guests, the most important of which were given this very same room. It wasn't uncommon for His Majesty to have his guests spied on; Belar had been under constant surveillance during the failed discussions of an alliance between Isidore and Big Cimaron. Considering His Majesty's fixation with the Demon Kingdom, Louis had predicted that he would be ordered to observe the foreign king and his Prince Consort that evening.

_"I want to know how much truth my informant speaks,"_ he'd been told, and then was sent to gather the required information.

He stood hidden behind a tapestry, peeking into the room from a minuscule separation between it and the wall. Unless the two occupants went around their room searching for secrets, or unless they happened to lean against the wall hanging concealing him and the passage – which he thought was unlikely – they would never know that he was there, or that they were being watched.

The Demon King sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He'd removed most of his clothing; only his pants and undershirt remained. Louis studied him carefully, but could find nothing to fear in him. He remembered seeing him the night Ilyich had challenged him and lost, so he was not as disturbed by the sight of black hair and eyes as the rest of the court had been. His coloring was the only part of the Demon King that could be considered intimidating; the rest was disappointing.

"There's nothing we can do," another voice said, its owner currently outside of Louis' field of vision. "We're already here."

"Why did you let me do this?" the king moaned in dissatisfaction.

"Because I learned a long time ago that nothing can stop you once you have your mind set."

"So you just let me screw up and lead us all into disaster?"

"I wouldn't say this is a disaster."

"Yet."

There was a sigh of resignation. "It could be worse."

"Right," came a muffled yet obviously sarcastic response. "Because there are worse things than Lyron putting his hands on you."

A snort this time, but the scorn behind it didn't sound sincere. "Gunter said it was how they greet their guests."

The Demon King lifted his head, his face twisted into a frown. "He didn't do it because he wanted to greet you! He did it because he wanted to get a reaction out of me! Everything he does is to get a reaction out of me!"

"Then your goal should be not to react."

Finally, the Prince moved toward the bed, and Louis was able to see the two of them together.

The Prince seemed to have been in the process of disrobing. His crown was gone, set somewhere out of sight, and his shoes, gloves, and cape had also been removed.

Setting his eyes on Prince Wolfram had only enhanced His Majesty's desire for him, but Louis saw nothing that impressed him. It was true that Wolfram had inherited a great deal of beauty. Louis could recognize that whether or not he cared for such things.

But beauty was all Louis saw when he looked at the Demon Prince. Wolfram was a soldier no longer; whatever strength he'd had before, he'd lost when he'd married the Demon King. If His Majesty went through with his plans to acquire him, Wolfram would be nothing more than a useless prize, a doll for His Majesty to play with and satisfy his lust for youth, but besides that a waste of space.

"I'm tired," the Demon King complained, abruptly changing the subject.

"You should get some sleep," Wolfram told him.

"I don't want to go to sleep."

"You just said you were tired!"

Arms wrapped around the Prince's waist, pulling him close enough for his lord and husband to bury his face against his front. "I don't want to think anymore," the Demon King's words were muffled again as he nuzzled against the dark fabric of Wolfram's jacket. He grasped at him tightly, before tilting his head back to gaze up at him. "I need you, Wolf."

Louis frowned at such a pathetic statement from a weak king. His Majesty must surely be mistaken if he truly believed the Demon King to be a worthy opponent.

Louis watched, silent all the while, as King and Prince fell onto the bed together. There was a rustling of fabric as the remainder of their clothing was removed. Even undressed, there was nothing to be impressed by. The Demon King had a decent body, developing muscles under tanned skin, but its allure was ruined by a profusion of black hair.

The Prince was no better. Any muscles he may have had before had already diminished. He was still thin, and that in itself was appealing, and though he lacked a good height, his legs were long and well-shaped. The hair on his body was sparse when compared to his husband, or else its fair color concealed it against his pale skin.

But beauty wasn't everything. What good was beauty to anyone if there was not talent and skill to join it?

The Demon King and Prince came together in a tangle of limbs, the King on top. At least he wasn't defiling his royal position by taking the inferior role, Louis thought, though he rutted against the Prince like some sort of animal, their mouths meeting in a sloppy mess of lips and tongues. Wolfram's moans were loud, and his hips, once the Demon King had buried himself deep inside him, bucked uncontrollably. There was no finesse in their coupling. The Double Black heaved and grunted like a filthy swine, while the Prince whined and begged - "please, please, please!" - like an artless whore.

He was hardly surprised when the Prince came first, hands scrabbling for purchase against the sweaty back of his king, as his back arched and his head tossed, dislodging strands of his hair from the pins that had yet to be taken out. The Demon King lasted only a little longer, slowing his movements and opening his devilish black eyes to take in his spouse's euphoria, before pressing to completion with a muttered curse.

They lied on the bed in a heap of sweat and skin, the Demon King collapsed on top of Wolfram, whose legs remained splayed as his fingers threaded through short strands of black hair. Only when they had both recovered did they break apart; the Demon King climbed off of his consort, flopping over onto his back. Wolfram turned on his side and placed his head on the Demon King's shoulder.

"I love you," the Prince whispered, yet his voice was not quite soft enough for it to go unheard.

Louis sneered and took a step back from the tapestry, prepared to leave and report to His Majesty, but the Demon King's reply stopped him in his tracks.

"I know."

He waited, expecting the remark to be followed by "I love you, too," but the words never came. Instead, the room fell to silence, disturbed only by the sound of breathing.

Louis' mouth lifted into a smirk. As offensive as their union had been, it had been worth it to gather that one, single shred of information.

Satisfied that his time had not been spent in vain, Louis turned to silently make his way down the secret passage, heading for the His Majesty's private bedchamber.

His master would be pleased.

**TBC…**


	27. Consentir

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. Isidore and all of the original characters within were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guinechan.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and sexual content (this chapter specifically contains content of dubious consent).

**Pairing(s): **Yuuri/Wolfram, with a few others on the side, namely Lyron/Louis, and very one-sided Lyron/Wolfram.

**Rating:** M.

**A/N:** As always, I don't think I managed to respond to everyone's reviews. I'm so very sorry! I swear, I'm going to do better this time! I swear!

Regardless, we're heading toward the climax of the story! After this, there's only two chapters and an epilogue left! This chapter was a fun one to write, but I imagine it won't be fun to read. Be prepared.

* * *

_**Love and War**_

by Mikage

**Chapter Twenty-Seven - Consentir - To Consent  
**

They gathered at a long table of dark, polished wood in a room some distance from the presence chamber, away from the court but close enough for the king to be summoned if necessary. Lyron took his place at one end, his back to a set of four tall windows overlooking a quaint garden, where the flowers struggled against the nightly frosts that continued to plague the country, and a maze of high hedges could be seen off to the right. Yuuri took the other end, his back to the heavy door, closed and barred and guarded by two soldiers with tall, sharp pikes.

Yuuri struggled to remain still in his chair, gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles showed white, his back fixed into a straight, tense line. He didn't like having his back to Lyron's soldiers, however much he'd been promised a peaceful meeting. From their first encounter, he'd been waiting for the other king to drop his guise of friendship and show his true colors - treacherous and cruel, if the mocking letters and messages he'd sent were any indication. So far, Lyron had been the very picture of hospitable, but his eyes showed that he had other things on his mind, things Yuuri was sure would benefit only one of them.

He thought he'd grown quite capable of reading people's eyes over the years, and Lyron's inspired no trust in him.

They'd been in Isidore for nearly thirty-six hours, and were only now coming together to discuss the dispute between their two countries. Their first encounter had been a short one, though Yuuri hadn't complained at the time; he couldn't have agreed more to removing himself and his husband from Lyron's presence as quickly as possible. He'd been disturbed enough by the things he'd seen on the way to the castle - the demonstration Lyron made to his people and guests alike by having the heads of traitors placed on spikes for all approaching the castle to see. Speaking with the man face-to-face had tried his nerves and kindled his anger, though even now he couldn't be sure just what sort of man Lyron was, nor what he was aiming at by acting the way he did.

After as much of a relaxing night as he could expect in the castle of his enemy, Yuuri had been prepared to get down to business, but Lyron had other plans. Yuuri, Wolfram, and the rest of their company had been treated to a day of games and celebrations, put on in honor of their visit. They'd sat for hours watching all kinds of performances - tumblers, mimes, minstrels, and masques engineered and performed by members of the court. Lyron put on a great show of enjoyment, laughing, clapping and cheering in a demonstration of amusement, while his wife sat silently beside him. Yuuri had been too agitated to enjoy it, growing more impatient and more anxious the longer Lyron stalled.

Finally, after a stressful day and a half spent waiting for the summons, Yuuri had been informed that morning that their negotiations would take place after the noon meal.

Wolfram sat directly to his right. The table had not been made to seat two people at either end, so his and his husband's chairs were squished rather close together, but Yuuri refused to have Wolfram sit anywhere else. Lyron's queen was not in attendance; Yuuri assumed she had absolutely no say in the running of the country, and was merely there for Lyron's enjoyment as well as for the eventual production of an heir. He suspected their host of belittling Wolfram's position as Prince Consort in a similar way. The manner in which he'd treated Wolfram since their arrival made it clear to Yuuri that Lyron did not see his husband as an equal. Though Yuuri might often fail to include Wolfram when it came to certain decisions, and could be accused of unsuccessfully granting Wolfram equal status, he wasn't about to advertise the issue to his enemy.

He presumed that particular conflict could be exploited as a weakness.

Along the sides of the table sat their advisers, Gwendal and Conrad to the left, and Wolfgang on the right, closer to his son. A handful of empty chairs separated them from the noblemen Lyron had chosen to surround himself with, creating a distance between them that Yuuri thought would be difficult to bridge.

Louis sat at Lyron's right hand. His position of importance had caught Yuuri's attention as soon as they entered the room. The shock he'd felt upon encountering Louis again had yet to wear off entirely. Seeing his face and finding himself under his level stare brought back his memories of the night of Ilyich's death stronger than ever before. He didn't know what the duke's relationship to Ilyich had been, but the recollection of him in black clothes and armor made it difficult for Yuuri to see him as just another of Lyron's courtiers. Every time he looked into Louis' hollow green eyes, he remembered Ilyich coughing blood onto his neck, choking out his final words.

"_Long live the King."_

The Duke stood out from the other men like a sore thumb. The rest were all older, Lyron's age or well passed forty. The King himself had to be in his mid-thirties, Yuuri decided, bordering on middle aged, but still in his prime. He sat in his chair with a confidence Yuuri had never been able to master, and feared he never would. If Lyron was in any way hesitant about this meeting, he gave no indication of it. He lounged in his chair quite comfortably, arms lax against the armrests while a delighted smile decorated his face.

"I don't believe you've become acquainted with my councilors," Lyron was the first to speak, lifting a hand to casually motion to the men around him. "You've met Louis previously, of course. His Grace Louis Adla, Duke of Braith, and my Specialized Military Adviser."

Louis had no reaction to the recitation of his title but to continue to sit and keep his vacant gaze upon them.

Yuuri did his utmost to remain impassive; he was determined to heed Wolfram's suggestion and react as little as possible. However, learning that Louis had come to inherit a position formerly held by Ilyich was more of a shock than Yuuri had been expecting. Out of all the duties he'd considered Louis might have, the commander of Lyron's Black Knights had not once crossed his mind. He would have thought that responsibility would be given to someone older, someone with more experience.

Unless Louis was, in actuality, the most experienced man sitting at the table.

Yuuri briefly caught his godfather's eye. Conrad nodded so subtly Yuuri almost didn't see it, but the frown on his face was more than enough to let Yuuri know that Conrad was on his guard.

Lyron's grin had widened by the time Yuuri's attention returned to him. Clearly he had witnessed the short exchange, and took pleasure in the knowledge that they may have underestimated his young duke. Perhaps that had been his intention all along.

"My brother-in-law and Lord Chancellor, Robert Cleves, the Duke of Grafton," Lyron continued, signaling the man on his left.

Their official titles might be different, but Yuuri could only assume that Robert held a similar position to Gwendal, or at least the man's importance was equal to that of his Chief Adviser. Robert was older than Lyron by a decade or so, a stern looking man with short brown hair streaked with gray and deep-set brown eyes. He wore robes of black and a matching hat with flaps that covered his ears. He was further identified by a gold and sapphire collar of office, with a decorative medallion to designate his station.

Lyron introduced the man next to Robert as, "The commander of my army, the Duke of Alton, Lord Lionel Ross."

Lionel appeared younger than the Lord Chancellor, but older than Lyron and, of course, Louis. He had a solid build, not tall and lean, but somewhat stocky. A triangular beard dressed his chin, dark auburn like his hair, which was gathered into a mid-length tail at the nape of his neck. A thin scar cut across his left cheekbone, beneath a pair of hard, hazel eyes.

"And my secretary, Lord John Eltham, the Earl of Raglan."

The fourth and final man was the oldest of the group. John had a thin, weathered look about him. He wore similar robes to Robert, which billowed around his frame, but he went without a hat. Lank gray hair surrounded a narrow face and watery blue eyes. His skin was sallow, heavily wrinkled, and riddled with age spots. Even so, his hands were surprisingly steady; he had a quill in hand and sheaves of parchment set before him, as if to record the proceedings.

As a whole, it was a rather inauspicious crowd. Lyron alone was smiling, a hungry leer Yuuri didn't take kindly to; his foe's mouth lifted on one side more than the other, a smirk that was all teeth and hardly welcoming. The remainder sat at attention but said nothing. Louis never moved his eyes from them, his face blank and inscrutable. Robert and Lionel, on the contrary, refused to look down the length of the table, staring at their associates instead, or at nothing at all in Lionel's case; he had his head tipped down, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him. John could have been deaf to all of them if it weren't for the fact that he had his quill poised to scribe.

The atmosphere of the room was excruciatingly sinister. Yuuri began to regret his decision to accept Lyron's invitation the longer he sat there.

He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his voice even, then figured he might as well make his own introductions. "This is my-"

Lyron cut him off. "I know who they are," he announced and altered his focus to Gwendal. "Your Chief Adviser. Eldest son of the previous Demon Queen and former General of the Army, Lord Gwendal von Voltaire."

Yuuri looked to see how Gwendal answered to the commentary, but the man hardly seemed to acknowledge it. He remained as stoic as always, returning Lyron's smirk with a level stare of his blue eyes. Gwendal might be wary of this encounter, but Yuuri thought it was pretty obvious that he was not intimidated.

He wondered if Gwendal was ever intimidated by anything, and wished he had that sort of courage.

"Queen Cecilie's second son and the man who named you," Lyron continued, shifting his gaze again. "Lord Conrart Weller, the Lion of Luttenberg, the Great Demon Kingdom's greatest swordsman. Some say the world's, but I beg to differ."

Conrad remained almost as immobile as Gwendal. His lips slid into a cordial smile, and he lowered his head just slightly in greeting. Yuuri wondered how he could possibly seem so calm when he must be as alert and as tense as the rest of them, but supposed it was another of the brothers' secrets he would never know.

Wolfgang was next to come under Lyron's scrutiny. "Her Majesty's third husband and an officer in the Royal Navy, Captain Wolfgang von Bielefeld," he said, surveying him closely. His eyes rested for a moment on Wolfgang's hand, before sliding back up to his face. "Your brother is Lord Auberon von Bielefeld, one of the Ten Aristocrats, am I correct?"

Wolfgang's resultant smile was tight and bleak. "You are well informed, Your Majesty."

"I make it my business to learn of my opponents before they set foot in my castle," Lyron explained. "You were involved in a rather nasty incident twenty-four years ago, were you not?"

"We all have our faults," Wolfgang smoothly replied.

"So we do," Lyron agreed with a nod, letting his gaze linger a little longer. Once he'd had his fill, he advanced on the last of Yuuri's cortege. "Wolfram von Bielefeld," he said the name as if doing so invoked the favor of the gods. "Prince Consort, former soldier in the Royal Guard, and an accomplished fire mage. You showed the most potential in magic out of all the young boys you trained with, though your swordsmanship has been said to be somewhat lacking."

Wolfram bristled beside him, his jaw clenching as his hands fisted around the armrests of his chair. Before he could stop himself, Yuuri's hand reached out to grip his husband's upper arm, afraid Wolfram might counter the slight with a biting comment or thoughtless action. Lyron chuckled as if he were witnessing some amusing spectacle, and Yuuri couldn't stop an indignant glare from forming, insulted by nearly everything this man did or said.

He was treating them like children, toying with them for his own enjoyment; Lyron didn't respect them at all.

"You're also Queen Cecilie's youngest son, whom she conceived during an affair with this man," he persisted, waving a hand in Wolfgang's direction. "Some say you should have been declared illegitimate. My people certainly took offense to your mother being married to two men at once. Bigamy is not tolerated here."

"Is there a point to this?" Yuuri snapped without intending to. His patience was already wearing thin, and they hadn't even begun yet.

The comment was enough to divert Lyron's attention at least, as he looked from Wolfram to Yuuri. "And you are the 27th Demon King of the Great Demon Kingdom, Yuuri Shibuya. An odd name, but then you are not of this world, are you?" he said instead of responding to Yuuri's question directly. "Yes, your eyes attest to that. I've never seen such a shape before, have you, Robert?"

He turned to his Lord Chancellor, who merely shook his head without glancing in Yuuri's direction. His eyes remained stubbornly averted.

Lyron chuckled again. "You'll have to forgive my advisers, Yuuri. They're not accustomed to being so close to a Double Black. It seems they're in awe of you."

Lionel snorted and muttered under his breath, "More disgusted than in awe, Your Majesty. He is an abomination."

Lyron lifted a hand to end his tirade before it could begin, though he seemed amused enough by it. "Now, now, we're not here for that," he told his general. "We're here for the sake of peace. Surely an end to the hostilities we find ourselves engaging in would be a benefit to both of us."

"Then perhaps the negotiations should commence," Gwendal suggested. Yuuri was sure he must be becoming impatient as well, given that Gwendal wasn't one to waste time with idle chatter.

"Perhaps," Lyron said, neatly folding his hands together. He paused to appraise Yuuri's assembled group, before seeming to come to a decision. "If you will kindly state your terms, I will respond with mine."

Yuuri looked to Gwendal to make sure his Chief Adviser didn't want to do all the talking before responding. "We-" he began, tripping over his words. "_I_," he corrected himself with more emphasis, "want you to recall your soldiers and remove them from my kingdom. There was never any reason for an invasion in the first place. My people have never done any harm to yours."

"To some, your mere existence is reason enough," Lyron replied, his smile dropping into a look that was a bit more serious. "The demon tribe has been the natural enemy of we humans for over four thousand years. You have unnatural powers that pose a threat to our very existence. What choice do we have but to subdue you? If we did not, we would be the ones to be subdued."

"That isn't what we- what _I_ want," Yuuri stumbled with his word choice again. As much as he would like to speak for all of his people, he knew some of them didn't feel the same way about the humans as he did. "I don't want to subdue humans. I _am_ human."

"Yet you have unnatural abilities."

"Yes, but I don't use them!"

"Don't you?" Lyron questioned him. His brows lifted inquiringly. "Did you not use your abilities against Belar's men when they tested the power of one of the forbidden boxes?"

"To save everyone! I use magic for the good of others, not to overpower them!"

"Who are you to decide what is for the good of others, and what is not?"

Yuuri forced his mouth shut before he could respond, frowning. He hadn't intended for this to turn into a debate about the rights of humans versus demons, or the manner in which he chose to use his powers. That wasn't supposed to be the purpose of this meeting, yet he was allowing Lyron to play with him. In all likelihood, he was reacting just as Lyron hoped he would.

"I only want to protect people," he insisted once he was able to gain control over himself again.

"Were you using those powers to protect people during the tournament in Cimaron, or because you were angry?"

Yuuri's fingers tightened on the armrests. He'd walked right into that. "That was different."

"And when you killed one of my advisers," Lyron continued to prod. "Was that different, too?"

"_You_ threatened my family!" Yuuri nearly shouted, barely able to stop his voice from rising above a normal tone.

A hand grasped his thigh under the table, thin fingers firmly kneading through his pants. It didn't settle him, but it was enough to curtail any further accusations.

Yuuri turned to Wolfram, feeling a surge of protectiveness wash through him not unlike the sense that had drove him against Ilyich. His husband didn't openly return his glance, though his hand remained on his thigh. It loosened slightly when he quieted, as the thumb began rubbing slow, soothing circles.

Taking a breath and willing himself not to get too worked up, Yuuri brought his focus back to the meeting. "I have human allies," he said, getting back to Lyron's initial argument. "We've proven that it isn't impossible for humans and the demon tribe to work together."

"From my position it would seem as if your allies had no choice but to make an agreement with you," Lyron argued. "Caloria was caught between Big and Small Cimaron, struggling for autonomy under the ineffective hands of a female sovereign with no ties to the ruling family but for those established by marriage. Similarly, Francia was a weak nation with an incompetent king and a humble army, vulnerable to Cimaron's oppression. When you extended the hand of friendship, they naturally grasped it in the hopes of protecting themselves against the stronger enemies that surrounded them."

"Cavalcade," Yuuri retorted. He would like to have corrected Lyron about his alliances with Caloria and Francia, and the reasons behind them, but he didn't think it would have made a difference.

"Cavalcade is different, I will grant you that. Their kingdom is strong and their government stable. Of course, the number of nations you have convinced to accept you is far lower than the number of those who remain against you. Svelera distrusts you. You used demonic magic within their borders."

"They were enslaving their women and forcing them to mine esoteric stones."

"Only the criminals," Lyron reminded him.

"Forming relations with people of the demon tribe isn't a crime."

"Perhaps not in your country. However, in Svelera the law is quite different." Lyron paused to smile. "You have little respect for the laws and beliefs of other countries, don't you?"

"That isn't true!"

"Isn't it? You expect everyone to change and accept you, when they may have perfectly valid reasons for not doing so. You force your way into other countries and exert your power over them. Svelera is a perfect example. You brazenly challenged their laws and aided a criminal rebellion. You are now harboring those very same criminals in your country. I do believe one of them has even married one of your courtiers."

"They were putting babies and children to death just because they were half-demon!"

"What happens to the citizens of Svelera is for the Sveleran monarchy to decide," Lyron concluded, his smile widening at Yuuri's distress. "You are not their king. They are not bound to heed your will. Unless, of course, you mean to subdue them."

"Yuuri doesn't have any intention of subduing anyone," Wolfram spoke in his defense.

The relief Yuuri felt at his husband's aid was fleeting. The moment Lyron's gaze turned to Wolfram, his demeanor changed, transitioning from smug and amused to predatory. His eyes raked over Wolfram with such lust Yuuri would have been blind to mistake it for anything else. Yuuri's stomach gave a sickening churn in response, and his hands shook with the effort to restrain himself.

"I'm afraid I can't be forced to agree with you, Wolfram," Lyron said, his voice a low, smooth rumble to match the desire in his cold, blue eyes. "I seem to recall an attempted assassination with Belar as its target. Was that not orchestrated by the Demon Kingdom?"

"Yuuri had nothing to do with it," Wolfram replied.

"Ah, but his Chief Adviser did," Lyron countered, desire bleeding into arrogance as he focused on Gwendal. "Yet you were not punished for your insolence, were you, Lord von Voltaire?"

Gwendal's brow twitched and his frown hardened, but he did not deign to reply.

"Nor were you, Lord Weller, when you betrayed your king. You joined forces with your country's greatest enemy, defying your previous master, only to betray your new one as well. How can you possibly be trusted?"

Conrad made no move to defend himself, though his pleasant smile was no longer in place.

"And then there's Captain von Bielefeld," Lyron continued, taking his time in assessing Wolfgang again. "How is it that you managed to escape the repercussions of your actions in Bastille? Were you not put on trial for murder?"

"Cecilie intervened on my behalf," Wolfgang admitted, seemingly without shame.

"Why, that makes you above the law, does it not?" Lyron wondered with obviously feigned shock. "That makes you all above the law," he added, then tisked disapprovingly. "A self-righteous king with no respect for his fellow kings, and subjects not held accountable for the crimes they flagrantly commit. Is it so hard to understand why you are not to be trusted?"

"Your soldiers are attacking my people indiscriminately," Yuuri seethed, trying to get back to the original topic of discussion. "You've decimated my villages and attacked my family!"

"Shall we discuss that then?" Lyron was more than happy to move on, despite the pleasure he seemed to have taken in throwing Yuuri's good intentions back into his face as if they were nothing more than the scheming machinations of a tyrant. Once again, he looked to Wolfram. "I admit I did send Ilyich to slap you and therefore issue a challenge, but any other harm he may have done to you was not on my orders."

"No matter what your orders were," Wolfram said, admirably brave, "a king is responsible for the actions of his subjects, as you previously implied."

"Granted," Lyron allowed, nodding his consent.

"Furthermore," Wolfram went on, and Yuuri was happy to let him. He didn't like the way Lyron regarded Wolfram so intently, but at the same time Lyron didn't seem to be looking to argue with him. "You have yet to apprise us of the rationale behind your unlawful invasion of our country. However much you hold Yuuri's actions in dispute, your own are equally as objectionable. You never officially declared war on us. Instead, you used Belar's conflict with us as a means of entering our lands."

"Belar requested my assistance."

"But you never signed a treaty with him, thus you are not in alliance with him and have no need to support him, which makes your presence in our kingdom in defiance of the laws that define a just war," Wolfram pointed out. His hand was still on Yuuri's thigh, and Yuuri, thankful for his help, took hold of it gently. "You have a lot to say against Yuuri, but I don't see you living up to your own standards."

The room grew quiet. Yuuri certainly didn't want to say anything more than he already had, worrying that he'd dig himself into a deeper hole, though he knew he would have to take the reigns again eventually. Across from him, Lyron gazed down the expanse of the table with an increased interest, studying Wolfram with a sweeping gaze while their advisers held their tongues. It was difficult to guess what Lyron was thinking at that point, but Yuuri was sure that whatever he was looking for in Wolfram, he wasn't disappointed.

"How spirited you are," Lyron observed. Yuuri tried to follow his gaze, but with the distance between them it was hard to figure out which part of Wolfram he was looking at. He didn't think it was his eyes. "Criticizing me in my own country. Yuuri gives you so much license to speak your mind?"

"Yuuri appreciates the opinions of his advisers and encourages us express them."

"You consider yourself one of his advisers?"

Wolfram frowned irritably. "State your terms."

From Lyron's left, Robert the Lord Chancellor angled his head enough to pin Wolfram with a dour glare. "You've no right to issue demands. The Demon King may allow you to lead him around by the balls, but you are in _our_ kingdom, and you are speaking to _our _king. You will show him the respect he deserves or you will be escorted back to your room."

Wolfram wasn't the only one to take offense to the comment; Yuuri felt it was way out of line, and he would had said something to contradict Robert's assumption if Lyron hadn't lifted his hand for silence. "Robert, Robert," he chided him cheerfully. "I give him leave to speak at his leisure."

"Your Majesty, he _insults_ you," Robert hissed.

"I assure you, I am not insulted. It excites me to play with fire."

Yuuri thought Lyron was forgetting one very important fact: fire burns.

"Pay him no heed, Wolfram," Lyron said, showing Yuuri's husband an indulging smile. "I would not change your boldness for all the world."

"Your terms?" Wolfram urged instead of responding to the compliment.

"I see you are not to be distracted," their opponent replied as he once again folded his hands together. "Very well," he conceded. "I will remove my men from your lands and cease hostilities against you if you agree to an alliance between the Great Demon Kingdom and Isidore, in which you will support me in an invasion of Cimaron."

"_What_?" Yuuri asked in disbelief, surprised that he was able to keep himself rooted to his chair. "Are you insane?"

"Your Majesty," Robert spoke again, but he did not glance to Yuuri as he had with Wolfram. "They belittle you."

"If anyone's doing the belittling here, it's him!" Yuuri contended, ready to stand from his chair and storm out at that very moment.

"Your Majesty," it was Gwendal who spoke this time, warning him in a low voice. "I would advise you to keep calm."

"He wants us to go to war with him and attack Cimaron," Yuuri reiterated, though he at least took the time to lower his voice. "And for what? Just because we can?"

"Because you would be my ally," Lyron interrupted their brief discussion, "and because I plan to strike as soon as Belar dies. There is disagreement as to who should inherit the throne. I intend to take advantage of that weakness."

"And what right do you have to do that?"

"Why, the same right you had in Svelera," Lyron said, lifting his hands into a casual shrug before lowering them and meeting Yuuri with another of his eager leers. "Absolutely none."

Yuuri felt his face color with rage. He'd never been so angry in all his near-twenty years, except, of course, the night he'd ended Ilyich's life. That Lyron would even suggest that they invade a country for no reason but because they had the means to do so both astounded and enraged him. In retrospect, maybe the things he'd done in the past weren't as praiseworthy as he'd originally thought, and maybe Lyron did have a point when it came to how he'd handled certain situations. Even still, Lyron had seriously misjudged him if he thought he would actually agree to a plan like this.

"I refuse," he affirmed. "I won't sign anything that would pose a threat to another country, whether they be my ally or my enemy!"

"Even if it would be a benefit to your own people?" Lyron asked.

Yuuri almost responded, but thought better of it before he could say something he might regret. He'd already given Lyron enough to use against him; his circumstances were only going to grow worse the more he fell right into his hands. Desperate, Yuuri looked between his advisers for help. He wasn't good at this. He didn't know how to deal with such a cunning man without making himself look bad in the process. Lyron had all the qualities of a king; Yuuri felt like a child compared to him - inadequate and far inferior.

Eventually, Gwendal relented and attempted to salvage the situation while Yuuri sank further and further into a pit of doubt. "We would appreciate some time in which to consider your offer," he said.

Lyron considered them carefully, looking from Gwendal to Yuuri, then back again, tapping the fingers of one hand on the arm of his chair as he thought. Finally, he nodded and stood from his seat. "Very well."

Yuuri scrambled to his feet when the rest of those around the table rose. Wolfram's hand fell away from his thigh. Yuuri missed it immediately, and wished the atmosphere were such that he could grab it without seeming weak and needy in front of his enemies.

"We will talk again later," Lyron announced. "For now, I have other business to attend to."

Whatever that other business was, Yuuri was sure Lyron would manipulate it to suit his own needs well enough. As soon as their temporary farewells were said and the meeting came to a formal close, Yuuri turned to flee the room, stalking blindly down the halls with Wolfram and his advisers at his heel. Fury bubbled within him, and it took all of his strength not to give into his powers - the darkness that surrounded his vision, the tingling in his limbs - and show Lyron what he thought of being made to look like a fool.

He was not going to stand for this. Lyron had been assaulting them and mocking them for months. Now he thought he could play with them like this, back them into a corner and force them to sign his deranged idea of a peace treaty and accompany him in an unjust crusade against Cimaron. Yuuri was tired of being continuously underestimated; he might not have been raised a king the way Lyron had, but he'd been born and chosen to take the throne, and he would be damned if he didn't prove himself to that man and wipe the smug look off of his face.

"I am _not_ signing a treaty with him," Yuuri seethed once they'd made it back to his accommodations, rounding on his advisers as they shut the door for privacy.

"Your Majesty," Gwendal began, ever the one to argue, "however much you may dislike the proposition, it may benefit us to sign the treaty."

"No!" he shouted in response. "Were you even _listening_ to him? He's a lunatic if he thinks I'll agree to that!"

"He would remove his knights from our kingdom."

"Yeah, to fight a war with Cimaron with us at his back!"

"Cimaron _would_ be the easier victory."

Yuuri almost laughed, he was in so much disbelief by what he was hearing. "Oh, so just because we can't win in a fight against Isidore, we'll pick the easier battle and let Lyron manipulate us to his advantage? That's bullshit, Gwendal, and you know it!"

"If we do not agree, the resulting war with Isidore will be far more costly. I can assure you of that."

"Yuuri," Conrad broke in, his tone more appeasing, "we should at least take the time to look at our options. If we sign a treaty, we can make sure the terms do not put us at a disadvantage. We're still in the middle of negotiations. We've been dismissed for the day, and the ball is in our court now," he said, making use of the Earthen expression. "We should use the time between now and our next meeting to modify the agreement."

"There isn't going to _be_ any agreement!" Yuuri maintained. "I'm not going to war with Cimaron."

"We're already at war with Cimaron, Your Majesty," Wolfgang reminded him.

The knowledge did little to calm him, if only because he'd never agreed to that war in the first place. His frustrations mounting by the second, Yuuri turned his back on his advisers with a growl. His fists clenched and trembled with the ire coursing through him, as his thoughts grew progressively darker and his awareness began to dim.

If Lyron wanted a war, then he'd give him a war, but it would not be against Cimaron. He would force Lyron's Black Knights from his kingdom himself if he had to. He knew he could do it; he had the power. He could easily ride out into battle again and unleash it. The fight would be over in a matter of minutes, and then Lyron would have no choice but to surrender, cowed by a power he would never possess or even understand.

He could do it now, show Lyron exactly what it was he had to be afraid of.

It would be so simple…

He felt himself slipping when a hand touched his shoulder. Outraged by the interruption, Yuuri turned to the culprit with a snarl. "What?" He hardly even recognized his voice, but then he wasn't conscious enough to realize the difference or comprehend the reasons for it.

Wolfram stood his ground instead of flinching away from his anger. He met him with a frown, green eyes narrowed daringly. Yuuri slapped his hand away before he could think better of it, though Wolfram took it in stride. Soon Yuuri found his face sandwiched between two pale palms. He tried to pull away, but Wolfram held onto him firmly. The look he gave him was defiant.

"Calm down," his husband demanded. "Look at yourself!"

Yuuri did. He inclined his head as much as he was able to while being held in place by Wolfram, looking down at the hands that had been about to roughly push his spouse away. An all too familiar blue light emanated around him, crackling with an angry energy.

Yuuri came back to himself in an instant. The darkness around his vision cleared, his heart eased to a rhythm less fierce than the beat that had been pounding away in his ears since the end of his conference with Lyron, and his fingers unfurled, loosening the tight balls he'd formed his fists into. He took a breath and released it slowly, and as he did so the energy around him dissipated, sliding back into his body where it rested dormant, contained.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice no longer loud, but soft and remorseful. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You need to stop this, Yuuri," Wolfram said, allowing his expression to soften. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Or someone else," Gwendal put in.

Yuuri recoiled from his Chief Adviser's criticism while Wolfram looked over his shoulder to glare at him for his unwanted input.

"You can't afford to lose your temper, Your Majesty," Gwendal added. "Not here. Not when Lyron's using every opportunity to question your motives."

"He doesn't think I'm capable of any of that," Yuuri replied. "He was just mocking me, trying to make me feel like I'm no better than he is."

"Then you should strive not to give him anything else to use against you. At the moment, using your powers here would be the worst thing you could possibly do."

"Didn't I tell you not to react to him?" Wolfram joined his older brother in the admonitions, removing his hands from his face to lower them back down to his sides.

"What else do you expect me to do?" Yuuri asked of them both. "I'm out of my league here!"

"We expect you to behave," Gwendal said. "The more you argue with him, then more you fall into his trap."

Yuuri didn't understand how he was supposed to stop that now, but he didn't mention it, not wanting to get into another heated discussion with his Chief Adviser. He'd had enough talking for one day. He'd had enough of being the king and making tough decisions. If he discussed it any longer he would only grow angrier, and then he would surely go crazy.

Conrad seemed to sense his mental fatigue and came to his rescue. "I think we should leave the treaty to be discussed at a later time. We all need to think about it before making that decision. Accepting or denying it isn't something we should rush into hastily."

Yuuri nodded, joined in his agreement by Gwendal and Wolfram. Wolfgang stood back silently, unobtrusively, carefully observing but keeping most of his thoughts and opinions to himself.

"You need to rest," Conrad continued, approaching him to lay a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Sleep for a few hours. We'll be dining among Lyron's court tonight."

"Great," Yuuri gave a sarcastic reply. "Just what I need."

His godfather showed him an apologetic smile, then squeezed his shoulder before dropping his hand and advancing upon a small table with a ewer of wine and two glasses. He tasted the wine first to check it for poison, and only when he deemed it acceptable did he fill one of the glasses. He carried it back to Yuuri and handed it to him.

"Drink this," he said, "and settle down. Take it easy for a few hours. We'll figure this out, Yuuri."

Yuuri made no move to agree with him, but he lifted the glass to sip at it. Conrad left him then, ushering Gwendal and Wolfgang out of the room. They'd probably be discussing the treaty between themselves for the rest of the night. Yuuri could only hope they'd come up with something to change their situation, because he didn't think he could do it on his own. He could only agree or disagree, and right now he was in complete disagreement.

He and Wolfram were left alone. His husband stood by him for a few more moments, watching him drink attentively. Wolfram's shoulders sagged as he sighed, his body finally loosening up as the afternoon's tense atmosphere dissipated. He gave Yuuri an exhausted look, before turning to make his way to the bed, not even bothering to take off his boots before he collapsed onto the mattress with a groan.

Yuuri drank more of the wine, his sips turning into larger gulps that quickly emptied his glass. He ached for Wolfram, suddenly remembering that he wasn't the only one having to deal with Lyron's behavior. His husband was facing him, too, and being forced to sit under those lecherous stares. He'd done a good job of seeming unaffected by it, but Yuuri was sure Wolfram had been just as uncomfortable as he was. After what had happened to him, he couldn't blame him, though he didn't think Wolfram would have appreciated it any differently even without Ilyich's abuse.

His sense of propriety wouldn't allow him to feel comfortable being ogled so intensely and so publicly by another man, especially a man who was not his husband, or one whose very demeanor threatened their livelihood.

Yuuri set his glass aside as he approached the bed. He climbed onto the mattress as carefully as he could, trying not to jostle Wolfram too much in case he didn't want to be disturbed, but when he wasn't met with any resistance he moved closer. Wolfram had drooped onto the bed on his stomach, his face shoved into one of the pillows, so Yuuri settled over him, bracing himself on his forearms to keep from putting too much of his weight on him, while lowering his head to rest his forehead against Wolfram's back.

"I'm sorry," he said, reducing the sound of his voice even though they no longer had an audience in the room. "I'm sorry, Wolf. I know you're probably stressed, too. I didn't mean to worry you."

Wolfram's head shifted against the pillow in a motion that resembled a shake. He said something that was muffled, before turning his head to the side to be able to speak more clearly. "You need to be more careful with your magic. You can't just walk down the halls of a human castle in a rage like that, Yuuri. You have to be more controlled."

"I'm trying."

"Not hard enough."

Yuuri frowned. He didn't agree with Wolfram's assumption, but he also didn't want to debate it.

"If you lose it here, Yuuri, we're not going to be able to fix things."

"Right. I know. I'm sorry." He nuzzled the side of Wolfram's neck, closing his eyes and lettings his husband's proximity soothe him. "Thank you for helping me today. I don't think I could have gotten through that meeting without you."

Wolfram snorted, but it didn't sound genuine. His whole body quivered with the chill that ran down his back. Yuuri felt it resonate through his chest, and kissed Wolfram's shoulder through his jacket in sympathy.

"One of us had to keep calm," Wolfram eventually replied, his voice no more than a soft mumble.

"It should have been me."

"It should have been both of us," Wolfram corrected him.

Yuuri couldn't help but smile. "You're right, as always," he said, kissing up his neck to place his mouth by his ear. "I was really proud of you in there."

Wolfram didn't answer right away, though he snorted again. The noise came out sounding slightly embarrassed, and Yuuri was treated to a delightful warmth as Wolfram's face colored. The bashful pink reached the tips of his ears, which Yuuri affectionately kissed. Moments later, one of Wolfram's hands slid up the mattress to grab onto Yuuri's beside his head, squeezing it before lightly caressing, moving his thumb over the darker skin.

Yuuri sighed as he leaned against him, resting their heads together and breathing in the scent of Wolfram's hair. It wasn't long before his lips reattached themselves to Wolfram's skin, trailing over his cheek and pecking the side of his nose, then moving down to his jaw and back to his neck, nudging the collar of Wolfram's jacket. He could smell an uneasy sweat under fresh linen, and lavender, either from the soaps Wolfram used to cleanse himself or aromatic oils in the bathwater. It was a mixture of scents he was becoming more and more familiar with the more time he spent so close to him.

It was amazing, shocking even, how comforting being intimate with another person could be. Fear and uneasiness were no longer an issue; the fact that Wolfram was a man no longer disturbed him. If anything, it excited him, though he didn't know why. _Because_ he was a man? Because the sight of Wolfram's body, similar to and yet different from his own, had some sort of an erotic quality he hadn't realized until he'd actually taken the time to _look_? Because he _had_ once thought that it was wrong - hypocritical as it was for him to think that, when he fought for the acceptance of other relationships - and defying that judgment was exciting in its own right?

He didn't know the answer, but he didn't spend much time worrying about it anymore. His relationship with Wolfram was what it was - respect, affection, and he would admit a bit of dependency on his part. He'd come to need Wolfram in the last year more than he'd ever needed anyone - emotionally, but also physically. In Wolfram's body he could release all of his stress and tension; in Wolfram's arms was the love and comfort he needed to move on, to feel confident.

Yuuri's body was already responding to their closeness, young and lusty as he was. It was as if his body was making up for wasted time, when his attractions to anyone - male, female - were delayed, when he cared more about homeruns and stolen bases than naked skin and the pleasures of a single touch. He could feel the heat of Wolfram's body through their clothes, exhilarating him, compelling him to press closer. Suddenly the smell of him was altered by an amorous mind. The mingling of lavender and sweat enticed his senses and sent a shot of hot blood through his body.

He shifted, and his body grazing against Wolfram's. There was a tingling in his extremities as a low, longing noise crept up and vibrated in the back of his throat.

Wolfram wriggled beneath him in response, and it wasn't until the back of Wolfram's shoulder nudged against his chest that Yuuri realized he was trying to roll over. He lifted himself off of him, balancing on his hands and knees, until Wolfram had turned onto his back and he could settle on top of him again.

"Five minutes ago you were angry enough to take down the entire castle," Wolfram said, looking at him in disbelief, "and now you're like this? You're impossible."

"I need you," Yuuri replied, pressing his face to the side of Wolfram's neck as a hand slipped into his hair, gentle fingers massaging his scalp.

"You always need me."

It was true enough. They'd only begun sleeping with one another four months ago, but Yuuri had already lost track of how many times any form of intimacy had occurred between them.

"Are you saying you don't want to?" Yuuri asked. Wolfram hadn't really ever said "no" to him before, but he wasn't going to put any pressure on him to give in if it turned out that he didn't want to.

Wolfram didn't give him a direct answer. "We have to be at dinner soon," he said instead.

"We can make it quick."

"It had better be," Wolfram warned. "I'll want to bathe after. I'm not going to dinner smelling like sex."

"I wouldn't want you to. Not with Lyron there. He'd probably get ideas."

Wolfram made a disgusted face. "I don't even want to know what sorts of things go through his mind."

"I don't like the way he looks at you," Yuuri said, his thoughts going back to Lyron's obvious desire for his husband. It made him angry just thinking about it. He didn't even know _why_ Lyron wanted him, but he was sure that he did.

He couldn't have him. Yuuri had come to question many things in his life, but he would never question that. If Lyron wanted his husband, he would have to fight Yuuri to get him, and Yuuri would be sure not to lose. He'd already killed for Wolfram, and he could do it again if he had to. Something inside told him so, whispering to him, reminding him how simple it would be.

So very simple…

"I don't either," Wolfram agreed, but his voice sounded far away. "Even still, we have to put up with it as long as we're here."

Yuuri wasn't going to. He'd be damned if he allowed it a moment longer. They might be guests in Lyron's kingdom, and arguably subject to his laws, but Wolfram was _his_ husband. Yuuri would never again allow him to be made a victim.

"You're mine," he vowed, filled with a sudden determination, a sudden purpose.

In an instant, the darkness in the back of his mind slithered forward, surrounding him in a veil of possessiveness. It wasn't something he was accustomed to feeling, but it resonated through his entire being, clouding his vision in the same manner his anger had before. A greedy hand took hold of Wolfram's neck, the thumb pressing to his chin to tip his head back, while his eyes locked on Wolfram's in a silent demand for a reply.

"What's gotten into you?" Wolfram asked quietly, his hand slipping from Yuuri's hair to rest on his shoulder. The other rose to join it, kneading comfortingly.

Yuuri didn't know how to answer. Half of him didn't think he was obligated to; the other half was simply confused. He couldn't explain the feeling that seized him. It was similar to his anger, yet not so ominous. It consumed him in the same way, enveloping his mind in a hazy fog so that he was only half conscious of what he was doing, but the destructive instincts were more muted, tempered by a lust that had to be satisfied.

His hands moved of their own accord, releasing his neck to work open the fastenings of Wolfram's jacket.

"Careful," Wolfram hissed when he handled one of the stubborn buttons a bit too roughly. "It's expensive."

"What do you wear that is not expensive?" Yuuri pointed out gruffly, finishing with the jacket to quickly tug it off Wolfram's arms. Next, he pulled the white shirt out of his pants, unbuttoning it only halfway before jerking it over Wolfram's head and tossing it onto the floor.

"Yuuri…" Wolfram breathed, but added nothing else to it.

"You are mine," Yuuri repeated the conviction, his voice lower than normal. He could hear himself speaking, but couldn't control the words that left his mouth.

"And you're mine," Wolfram returned, looking at him insistently. "Aren't you?"

A rumbling sound escaped Yuuri's throat - a chuckle. He leaned down to ghost his lips over the side of Wolfram's face, coming to rest against his ear. "No man may possess you," he whispered, his tongue momentarily sliding out to flick Wolfram's earlobe, before he finished, "but us."

Wolfram looked at him with wide eyes. There was no fear in him, but Yuuri saw confusion and concern. The odd statement didn't register in his own mind. He thought of nothing. He could only see and smell, hear and feel. He reacted on impulses he was barely aware of. His mind was as cool and tranquil as undisturbed water, while each cell of his body burned.

He yanked off the rest of Wolfram's clothing before working on his own, impatient to lie skin-to-skin. Wolfram aided him with trembling hands, struggling with the buttons and the fastenings of his pants, his breath coming out in short gasps as his eyes darkened with an apprehensive desire. Yuuri pressed him to the mattress with the full weight of his body, and kissed him with an uncontrollable passion. He bore down on Wolfram with a dominance he'd never felt or showed before, as his consciousness dulled and his skin prickled with potent power.

Their coupling was hasty and almost violent. Wolfram's reacted with a mix of pleasure and pain, his expression twisted between strain and desire. He exhibited a determination that Yuuri could only admire. Wolfram looked straight into his eyes, and never once turned away. His body was tamed, but his gaze showed so much strength, so much purpose. He was worthy, the arcane and primal half of Yuuri decided, satisfied with Wolfram's silent agreement that he would belong to no one else.

Bodies coiled in a knot of limbs - sweat, skin, and a subtle glow of blue energy. Wolfram's arms and legs cinched tightly around him. Yuuri's driving purpose was to claim him completely, to burn himself into his very being.

It ended quickly. The tension in his body uncoiled, and with the culmination came a return to awareness, his baser urges once again slipping back into the darker recesses of his mind. His vision sharpened and his senses returned to normal, his ability for thought functioning as it normally would.

He gasped for air and his limbs felt heavy, as if all of his energy had seeped out of him. He collapsed onto Wolfram, placing his head on his chest and listening to the beat of Wolfram's heart, which thundered beneath his ribs. Thin fingers carded into his hair, calming him with their fond stroking, and he was further soothed by the gentle press of lips against the crown of his head.

He laid there in the glowing aftermath, but couldn't appreciate the warmth and affection the way he usually would. Instead, he was consumed by the indescribable fear that something was wrong.

* * *

Wolfram rushed to get ready the next morning, smoothing the wrinkles from his clothes, binding his hair up to keep it out of the way, adjusting his crown and properly aligning the brooch on his ascot. He was exhausted but had no time to worry about extra sleep, ignoring his wan complexion and the faint smudges of purple below his eyes. His typical preoccupation with seeing that he looked absolutely perfect was momentarily forgotten as he did his best simply to prepare himself for the trials to come.

"I wish you wouldn't go," Yuuri said quietly. Wolfram could see him in the mirror, standing a few feet behind him with his arms hanging limply at his sides, looking lost and remorseful and afraid. If his husband was feeling any sort of anger toward his decision, it was overshadowed by his guilt.

"I have to, Yuuri," he insisted. "This is the perfect opportunity for us gain control over the negotiations. Lyron isn't looking to fight with me. As disturbing as it is to be around him, we can't ignore that."

"He wants you."

"He won't be able to try anything with other people around. It would put his honor in question."

Yuuri frowned but didn't counter the statement.

"Besides, you can't go with him," Wolfram reminded him, pinning a stray strand of hair back before compulsively straightening his jacket. "Their beliefs won't allow it. As your husband it is therefore my duty to attend the ceremony in your stead."

"How convenient."

Wolfram sighed heavily and refused to respond to Yuuri's grumbled reply. They'd been locked in this argument since the night before. He had little patience for continuing it when he'd soon be leaving to fulfill his obligations as the Great Demon Kingdom's Prince Consort.

The negotiations the previous day had not gone as well as any of them would have liked, and Wolfram had feared that Yuuri's show of anger as he'd stalked down the halls from the meeting room would put a premature end to any hope they may have had of formulating a successful agreement. Lyron had no doubt been made aware of his show of power, taking it as proof that his own assumptions, which he'd been more than happy to share with them, were more true than false. Attending dinner amongst the court had been an agonizing experience. They hadn't known what to expect.

But Lyron had made no mention of it and treated them as cordially as he had during the celebrations to mark their arrival. He spoke with them about his kingdom, asked questions concerning the Great Demon Kingdom that Yuuri answered reservedly, and seemed for all appearances as if he were enjoying every moment of their visit. He expressed his desire to continue their negotiations as soon as possible, stating that he looked forward to signing a treaty. Wolfram wasn't sure how much of his sentiments were genuine, but he thought it better than Lyron throwing accusations at them again.

He'd surprised them all by inviting Wolfram to a special holy service to be conducted the following morning in celebration of the first day of May. Traditionally, both visiting royals would have been invited with Yuuri receiving the position of honor at Lyron's side, but Yuuri's coloring made that impossible. Double Blacks were a curse to humans; Yuuri attending a holy ceremony, or even setting foot in a human church, would be an act of sacrilege. Whether or not Lyron believed in the teachings of human priests, it seemed improbable that he would commit such an offense against the God of his people.

Either way, it was the perfect opportunity for Wolfram to alter the unfavorable position they now found themselves in. Yuuri had had enough trouble keeping his composure yesterday and had nearly caused them to lose face in front of their enemy. He didn't blame his husband, but at the same time he wanted to repair the situation before it grew too bleak. He was confident that he could maintain better control than Yuuri had shown, and if he played his cards right he'd turn the negotiations to their favor without making Yuuri the victim of any more undue stress.

"I'm worried about you, Wolfram," Yuuri said, bringing him back to the present.

Wolfram stopped his preparations to face his husband. Yuuri looked more than worried; his face was all sadness. His eyes were dark and glistened with shame, his mouth lowered into a perpetual frown. He wasn't merely thinking of what Lyron may attempt while they were temporarily separated, of that Wolfram was sure.

"I'm fine," Wolfram replied, closing the distance between them to lift his hands to Yuuri's face. "I've told you that already."

Yuuri flinched at the caress but didn't pull away. "Yesterday… after the meeting," he tried to explain around broken sentences. "I hurt you."

Wolfram forced a snort. "I can handle more than that. I'm tougher than I look. Trust me."

"But… you shouldn't have to. Handle it, I mean. I… I don't even know why…"

"You were angry."

"Stop making excuses for me!" Yuuri exclaimed. He'd yet to move his own hands, as if he were afraid to touch him. Instead, they continued to hang at his sides.

He wasn't making excuses for him, or at least he didn't think he was. He knew Yuuri had a growing problem with his anger, that something was happening between him and his other half that caused Yuuri's control to slip during times of increased stress. He'd seen the signs before - on their wedding night when Yuuri had shouted and shaken him, leaving fingerprint bruises on his shoulders; when Yuuri had gone to interrogate Ilyich and his accomplice, and had returned from the dungeon glowing blue; and he was sure Yuuri had slipped the night he'd killed Ilyich, the same as he had in bed the night before.

It worried him, and it scared him on some levels, though only because he was afraid of Yuuri losing himself. He knew that Yuuri's intention in those moments was not to harm him, so he didn't fear for his own wellbeing. He was much too familiar with explosive anger to shrink away from Yuuri's temper. Maybe it _was_ dangerous to step in the way of that power, but he trusted Yuuri to snap out of it, and he trusted himself to handle it. Yuuri was determined to protect him from a lot of things, but Wolfram wouldn't allow him to shield him from that. Yuuri was his friend, his king, and his husband; if he couldn't help him through it, who could?

He'd accepted what had happened yesterday evening and placed no blame on Yuuri for it. Yuuri might have convinced himself that he'd done some wrong, but Wolfram refused to agree with him. He hadn't told Yuuri to stop - hadn't even thought of it. He'd known what Yuuri had needed, and he'd given it to him readily. He wasn't offended by the treatment he'd received; in fact, he was almost thankful for it. He would rather ride out Yuuri's darkness himself than have him unleash it on others, however much they may deserve it. He and Yuuri could fix their own problems; it would be far more difficult to mend the issues that would arise if Yuuri lost his head and used his powers on Lyron.

"Darling," Wolfram said. It sounded odd in his ears, like his mother speaking to one of her lovers, but somehow it always got Yuuri's attention. He could overlook the bizarre sound for Yuuri's sake.

True to form, Yuuri's mouth shut instantly and his eyes locked with Wolfram's instead of shifting away in shame.

"I'm fine," he stressed again, smoothing one thumb over Yuuri's cheek while the other hand went behind his head to gently rub at the nape of his neck. "How many times do I have to say that before you'll believe me?"

Yuuri shrugged, his frown becoming more petulant than despondent. "Maybe a hundred," he said.

Wolfram laughed lightly and leaned in to kiss him. Finally, Yuuri's hands rose to his waist, settling there before one slid up along his back. His touch was gentle and hesitant, but it was better than the self-imposed restraint from before.

"I'm not weak," he whispered. He didn't pull away, his lips brushing against Yuuri's with every word.

"I know," Yuuri said.

"I'm not fragile."

"I know."

"You didn't hurt me."

It wasn't necessarily the truth. There had been blood on the bedclothes, and the hot water had stung when he'd bathed. Even after he'd thought he'd managed to blot it all and soothe the tearing, he'd discovered some light spotting in his undergarments after dinner. Sitting was a bit uncomfortable; there were moments when he thought he could still feel Yuuri inside of him. But it was tolerable, and Wolfram was determined that Yuuri would never know how much it truly pained him.

"I did," Yuuri countered. "I know I did."

"You didn't," Wolfram said, pulling away enough to pin him with narrow eyes. "I'm not as pathetic as you seem to think I am."

"I don't think you're pathetic!"

"Then trust me."

Yuuri faltered before saying anything else, answering him with a contrite nod.

"I'm not weak," Wolfram repeated. "I may have gone through some unpleasant things in the past, but I've always handled it. What happened yesterday was nothing compared to almost losing you, or nearly dying when my heart was taken, or facing Ilyich. I would repeat last night for you a thousand times before I ever chose to go through any of that again."

He felt Yuuri tremble against him and grasp him tightly.

Wolfram held him, rising onto his toes to bring Yuuri's head to his shoulder, continuing to rub at his neck while his other hand kneaded the tense muscles of Yuuri's back. He kissed his dark hair, offering as much comfort as he knew how. He didn't think he was very good at it; he wasn't always the most sympathetic person, but for his husband he would try. Yuuri had softened him, made it alright to express his love, to show his vulnerability. For that, he could shower him with all the support and compassion in the world.

"I love you," he whispered.

Yuuri nodded again, pressing his face into the collar of his jacket. "I know."

Wolfram grinned against his hair and responded in a teasing tone of voice. "I could still kick your ass if I wanted to."

That had Yuuri's laughing. They pulled away from one another, Yuuri looking at him with affection while his hands returned to his waist. Wolfram settled back down onto his heels, slipping his arms under Yuuri's to circle them around him.

"You could try," Yuuri taunted, returning the playful jeer. He continued to sound a bit uncertain, but at least he'd settled down enough to joke.

"And I'd win."

"If you got lucky."

Wolfram raised his eyebrows, smirking at his husband's confidence. It was good to see it return so quickly, though he supposed it could easily be feigned. "Should we have another duel, then?" he wondered.

"Maybe when we get home."

He didn't have enough time to contemplate whether Yuuri was being serious or merely continuing to tease, for at that moment a firm knock sounded against the door.

Wolfram cleared his throat as the serious mood returned. He pulled away from Yuuri, though not before leaning in for a final kiss. "I have to go," he said, his arms sliding from under Yuuri's. His hands lingered on Yuuri's chest before he back-stepped toward the door.

Yuuri went back to frowning, but didn't stop him. "Be careful," he told him. It sounded more like a command than a request.

Wolfram managed a smile. "Don't worry. I will be."

"I'll wait for you."

He couldn't help but think it might be good for Yuuri to be the one waiting for a change, though he said nothing about it. He nodded, then turned to open the door.

Lyron was waiting for him on the other side, dressed in stately purple and a dark, ceremonial cloak lined with ermine. Wolfram was unsure if the choice of clothes and the addition of a crown upon his head was meant to impress, or if he'd simply donned the attire for the holy occasion. Regardless, he was incapable of denying that Lyron played the part of King rather well.

"Wolfram," Lyron greeted and acknowledged him with a shallow bob of his head, then took Wolfram's hand and brought it to his lips for a light kiss.

Behind him, Wolfram could feel the distress and anger rolling off of Yuuri in waves.

"Your Majesty," Wolfram returned with a bow of his own head, doing his best not to immediately snatch his hand away.

"I am honored that you have agreed to accompany me," Lyron continued, releasing his hand only when he was satisfied.

"The honor is mine." The sentiment was forced, but Wolfram made sure it seemed authentic. He could play along if he had to.

Lyron's smile widened before his pale blue eyes slid away to gaze passed Wolfram's shoulder. "I do apologize that you are unable to join us, Yuuri. Surely, you understand."

Wolfram looked back to his husband, watching him struggle with his composure. He pled with him with his eyes, silently asking him to keep calm, at least until he and Lyron had left. He didn't mind if Yuuri wanted to rant to Gwendal or the others after, so long as Lyron wasn't there to witness his anger and disdain.

"Yeah, it's fine," Yuuri bit out inelegantly.

Wolfram supposed he could expect nothing more. Lyron didn't seem insulted, in any case. He continued to smile, and took Wolfram's hand again to place it in the crook of his own elbow. Wolfram stumbled closer to him in surprise, but recovered gracefully enough. He didn't like the idea of Lyron leading him the way Yuuri often did, though he knew better than to deny a king his right in his own country.

"I will return Wolfram to you soon enough," Lyron reassured Yuuri, pulling Wolfram out into the hallway.

Louis had accompanied him, swathed in dark blue and a similar ceremonial robe, with a ducal coronet on his ash brown hair. He met Wolfram with a quick glance of his cold eyes, stepping aside to make room for him at Lyron's right.

His father, Gwendal, and Conrart were also present, though Conrart alone would be joining them to the ceremony. Only Wolfram had been officially invited, but Lyron would not deny him one of the Demon Kingdom's soldiers for his comfort and protection. Conrart, being part human, would be the least controversial of the three. Gwendal and his father were to stay behind with Yuuri, to keep him occupied and continue discussions about the treaty until Wolfram returned.

He caught one last glimpse of his husband before being led off, glancing over his shoulder to throw him a reassuring smile, though the sight of him soon disappeared. Lyron kept the fingers on his elbow covered with his opposite hand, squeezing every once in a while and meeting Wolfram with a pleased expression, his eyes twinkling. Conrart and Louis fell into step behind them, silent but for the tapping of their boots on the floors.

"You seem tired," Lyron observed after a few moments with no conversation. "I do hope you slept well last night."

"I'm fine, Your Majesty, but thank you for your concern," Wolfram responded, attempting to interact with him as formally yet as distantly as possible. "I'm still recovering from our travels."

"It is true that you grow seasick then."

It didn't sound like a question, but Wolfram inclined his head in answer anyway.

"Perhaps you would like to see one of my physicians," Lyron suggested kindly enough.

"That won't be necessary," Wolfram replied as graciously as he could.

He didn't trust human doctors. What could they possibly do for him without the use of magic? He certainly would not allow them near him with one of those human stones. There was no telling what Lyron would request them to do.

The human king made no effort to argue with him, accepting his refusal with another smile.

Wolfram was finding it quite difficult to read him. It had seemed clear to him what Lyron's motives were when it came to his husband. He taunted Yuuri endlessly, wanting a reaction, wanting proof of Yuuri's supposed tyranny. When Lyron turned his eyes to him, however, his thoughts were much more difficult to discern. There was lust, and plenty of it - there was no way he could so easily overlook that; but there was more to it than that, and no matter how long or how deeply Wolfram dared to look, he couldn't decipher what it was.

Not a word passed between them for the remainder of their trip down the halls of the castle. Wolfram allowed the escort with only the slightest hint of discomfort, telling himself not to be insulted by the way Lyron treated him - as he would the royal wife of any of his human guests. Whether or not Lyron treated him according to his gender, he was still awarding him quite a bit of respect, which - for now - was going to have to be enough.

They stopped outside the entrance of the castle chapel's royal compartment to greet the approaching queen. Only when she'd stopped before them did Lyron release Wolfram's hand, stepping forward to take his wife by the shoulders and meet her with a chaste kiss. The contact between them was formal and cold; Wolfram was sure whatever feelings existed between them were even less than those between he and Yuuri.

"Bryndis," Lyron said her name without affection, pulling away to motion Wolfram forward. "Prince Wolfram has consented to join us in service today."

The Queen dipped into a curtsey, before leaning in to kiss each of Wolfram's cheeks. "You honor us, Your Majesty," she said. The fear he was used to seeing in her eyes when she was confronted by Yuuri was not currently present. Instead, she showed him a small, benign smile.

Bryndis was a pretty woman, quite a bit younger than Lyron - perhaps in her early twenties. She was very fair, with pale blonde hair and light colored eyes, and skin that looked as if it hadn't known a day's worth of hard work. For the service that morning, she was clothed head to toe in pious black. Her dress had only minimal embellishments, and a veil trimmed with lace covered her hair, which today hung loosely down her back.

Wolfram returned her smile with one of his own, paying his respects with a bow.

Lyron completed the rest of their journey to the service with his wife on his arm, crossing through the entryway with her while Wolfram followed close behind.

The Royal Chapel was a thing of beauty. Wolfram had visited many grand buildings in the eighty-six years he'd been alive, and though he hadn't been all that impressed with the rest of the castle, the chapel would have taken his breath away if he weren't so intent on remaining formal and stoic.

High, vaulted ceilings rose in arches above their heads, painted a deep blue with small, white stars and golden fixtures. The windows were made of colored glass, reds and blues and greens and yellows depicting passages from the human holy texts. With the sun beaming through them, they formed patterns of light on the mosaic floor. Dark, polished wood made the pews, pulpit, and the banisters. Wolfram looked over the railing and spied engravings along parts of the floor, where he presumed the remains of prominent Isidorian figures could be found.

They stepped out onto a balcony above the chapel's main floor. The rest of the court had congregated below. Wolfram guessed the balcony was saved specifically for the King, Queen, and whomever they chose to accompany them. Lyron led his wife to their proper places and motioned for Wolfram to take a seat beside him. Once again, Conrart and Louis took their places behind them.

An organ played and the service began. Wolfram had learned the basics of human religion during his lessons - his education had required the study of human language and culture - but he had never witnessed a holy ceremony. He observed with interest, scanning the young faces of the boys that made up the choir below, their high voices resounding off of the towering ceilings. Most of the service was spent on their knees while the priest intoned in a loud yet tranquil voice. He spoke of peaceful things, before warning against sin and temptation.

Peering out of the corner of his eye, Wolfram saw the Queen with her head bowed, hands clasped together under her chin while her eyes stayed softly closed, her lips quickly forming the silent words of a prayer. She hardly moved during the entire ceremony, as if doing so was a sin itself. Her intense piety made Wolfram feel somewhat immoral, intruding upon beliefs that were not his own. Guiltily, he shifted his eyes away. He respected her devotion, but felt none of it himself.

The Demon Tribe had no official religion. Some of them, especially those with human backgrounds, believed in a single, omnipotent god who created all life, and who controlled all things; to these people, the Great One had been God's messenger, and he was worshipped accordingly. Others believed in many gods, entities who represented various phenomena - love, war, marriage, childbirth. Still others believed in the spirits of the land - water, fire, earth, wind - honoring them through customs passed down over four-thousand years.

Wolfram had never been able to settle on one distinct belief. He blamed his family for that; his father hadn't been around enough to instill any sort of belief in him, his mother had only taught him to seek true love and revere the Great One, and his brothers had never believed in anything but work and duty.

The only example he had to follow now was Yuuri, who believed in peace, acceptance, and hope, but nothing more concrete than that.

The service lasted for almost an hour, and ended with the priest praising the King and Queen, and the choir singing a song in their honor. Lyron stood as soon as it was over; Wolfram followed suit, but Bryndis remained on her knees.

"Let us leave her to her own devices," Lyron said, ushering Wolfram back out into the hallway.

Wolfram looked in on the Queen before the door concealed her, but her head never raised. She stayed on her knees, her mouth still silently moving.

He hadn't expected to be taken back to his and Yuuri's room right away, so he wasn't surprised when Lyron took his hand to place it on his arm again, and led him in the opposite direction. The ceremony hadn't allowed them any time to talk. Wolfram had been hoping for the opportunity to discuss the treaty with Lyron without Yuuri present, certain he could influence the human king into accepting terms more beneficial to them if Lyron weren't distracted by his endless attempts to get a rise out of his husband. At the moment, it seemed as if Lyron had the very same thing in mind.

They came to the room they'd met in the day before, halting at the door for Lyron to remove his heavy cloak and crown. "Have these taken away," he commanded as he handed the articles to Louis, who took them with a bow. "Lord Weller, you are of course permitted to take your place by the door, but I would very much like to speak with Wolfram alone."

Conrart frowned, and looked as if he would have argued if he weren't so mindful of his place and the respect he was expected to show. Wolfram met his look of concern with a hard, determined gaze, willing him to trust him. After a few moments, Conrart relented, nodding and moving to stand at the side of the door. It was a place he was accustomed to in the Great Demon Kingdom, but one Wolfram assumed he was uncomfortable taking in the castle of another king. Surely he would have rather accompanied them into the room.

Lyron smiled over his victory and opened the door to the room himself, gesturing with his hand for Wolfram to enter before him. Wolfram took a breath to calm his nerves, then did so, taking slow steps toward the long table as Lyron followed him and closed the door.

The meeting room was different without his family or Lyron's advisers present. Darker, more sinister, it surrounded Wolfram with an oppressive feeling of unease, like there were things - harmful things - lurking in the shadowy corners. Even the sun, shining brightly in a clear, blue sky, could not dispel the gloom. Its rays struggled to part the shadows, its light coming to a sudden halt not even halfway across the table.

Wolfram turned to Lyron before the human king could speak, hoping that by initiating the discussion he would have the upper hand. "I wanted to speak with you about the terms of our agreement."

Lyron's brow lifted with interest, his mouth quirking into a smirk. He stood by the door, his posture loose and easy. "I was not under the impression that we had even made an agreement. Yuuri did not seem inclined to sign a treaty when we met yesterday."

"Yuuri wouldn't have accepted your invitation if he didn't intend to sign a treaty," Wolfram informed him, "but the terms you proposed yesterday were hardly to our benefit."

"I see," Lyron observed, his eyes slowly scanning him. It took all of Wolfram's willpower to stand motionless and let him. "And what is it that you propose?"

"Peace between the Great Demon Kingdom and Isidore. You remove your soldiers from our lands, and we won't act against you in your invasion of Cimaron."

"But you will not join me."

"Taking part in an unjust war would go against Yuuri's principles."

"Is that so?" Lyron wondered, taking a casual step forward. "And what do you believe? Do you always follow your husband's will?"

"We have nothing to gain from going to war with Cimaron," Wolfram replied.

"Despite everything they've done in the past? For the last year, hasn't Belar encroached upon and occupied your lands, as well as that of your allies? He invaded Caloria and took Francia with hardly any resistance. And I do believe you were the one to sign the Declaration of War against him."

"That was before we knew who was in control of the Black Knights terrorizing our people," he accused, doing his best to control his facial expressions and the tone of his voice. Yuuri had given Lyron plenty to use against him; Wolfram would do his utmost not to fall into the same trap.

"So hasty to place the blame on others," Lyron said, his smirk widening into a leer.

Wolfram's fingers twitched by his sides, but he didn't allow them to curl into fists. "Now that we know the truth, we are willing to forgive Cimaron its prior transgressions and sign a treaty of peace with you if it means an end to the war."

"Did your husband put you up to this?"

"I'm fully capable of acting on my own," Wolfram told him.

"Are you?" Lyron inquired, lifting his brow again. "Then I wonder just how much power King Yuuri has, if he lets his spouse negotiate on his behalf."

"Yuuri trusts me to act in his interests."

"So he does," Lyron agreed, taking another step forward.

Wolfram forced himself to remain in place, while his instincts urged him to back away. Even if he did, there wasn't anywhere for him to go. In an instant, he realized how foolish it had been to allow Lyron to block the only exit. He wouldn't be able to leave until he was permitted to, and he was sure Lyron would not make it easy for him.

He silently cursed himself for his mistake.

Pale eyes looked over him, studying him with a perverse intensity that sent a scandalized shiver down Wolfram's spine. They began at the crown on top of his head and traveled all the way down to his feet, lingering here and there whenever something caught Lyron's fancy - a curl of hair, the shape of his mouth, the gold buttons that lined his chest, the stockings clinging to his calves. They rose again once they'd taken in his shoes, returning to his face with a hungry gleam.

Wolfram tried to soothe the sudden dryness in his throat, but didn't want to swallow too noticeably.

"I may be convinced to accept your terms _if_ I find some benefit in them for myself," Lyron said, his third step nearly closing the distance between them.

"Would peace in your kingdom and an end to hostilities with the Great Demon Kingdom not be of a benefit to you?"

Lyron's resultant chuckle was filled with amusement, like he was dealing with nothing more than an ignorant child with no sense of treaty making. "I'm not referring to the benefits my kingdom would experience. I'm referring to something a bit more personal."

As much as Wolfram inwardly cringed at the statement, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What do you suggest?"

Lyron grinned as if that were exactly what he'd wanted to hear. "I would be willing to remove my men from your lands without requesting the aid of the Great Demon Kingdom in my war against Cimaron if…" he trailed off and paused. His eyes heating with lust, Lyron lifted a hand to stroke the side of Wolfram's face. "If you give yourself to me," he finished in a husky whisper.

Wolfram almost lost his composure, but somehow managed to hold onto it by a thread. His throat closed up at the feel of Lyron's hand on his face, knuckles lightly trailing over the skin of his cheek. He thought he felt himself pale and swallowed despite his prior goal not to, his fingers finally folding into his sweaty palms. He couldn't speak, made both wary and offended by the proposition, suddenly aware of the vulnerable position he'd heedlessly placed himself into.

If he didn't tread carefully, he risked ruining any chance they had of making a favorable treaty, or of keeping his honor and integrity intact.

"You must know that I desire you, Wolfram," Lyron said when he did not respond, the stroking of his hand on his face becoming a bit more purposeful, a rough thumb gliding over Wolfram's lips. "I have since the moment I first laid eyes on your portrait."

Wolfram couldn't feign ignorance. Lyron's lust was in his eyes, in his voice, in his very posture. It flowed from him in a thick tide, seeping through the room and surrounding Wolfram in its cloying grasp. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. Alone with Lyron now, he felt himself drowning, falling into a trap he hadn't even realized had been set for him, but one he should have expected the moment he'd first encountered him, when Lyron's eyes had followed him out of the presence chamber and remained on him even when he was no longer in sight.

"You are very beautiful," Lyron continued, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "In all the world, I think there is no one who can compare. You have everything. Strength, devotion, a ready mind," he lifted his hand to gently tap his forehead. "Skill, potential, grace, maturity, yet innocence as well. It shocked me that Yuuri took so long to consummate your marriage. How could he not desire this?" he wondered, lowering his hand back down, playing his fingers along Wolfram's neck.

As much as he would have liked to slip around Lyron and leave, Wolfram stood his ground, his feet rooted to the floor, though he couldn't tell if it was due to his determination or his increasing trepidation. He swallowed again, and wracked his brain for something to say in response.

"You dishonor myself and Yuuri by even suggesting such a thing," he finally said, glad that his voice remained steady.

"Perhaps," Lyron agreed. He closed the remainder of space between them, his knees brushing against Wolfram's legs as his free arm went around his waist. "Yet imagine what it would mean for your kingdom."

"I would be disgracing my husband and therefore my kingdom."

"But there would be peace, and with very little sacrifice. I would remove my men immediately and engage Cimaron on my own. You would lose nothing."

"Except my pride," Wolfram declared. His eyes narrowed and his hands rose to fend Lyron off, but the effort was minimal at best. He absolutely abhorred the idea and was of a mind to say "no" without a second thought, but something stopped him, something turned the gears in his mind before he could give such a firm answer.

The very thought disgusted him. To sleep with Lyron for the sake of politics would go against everything he'd ever believed. Only the most undignified of gentleman lowered themselves to perform sexual favors to advance their agenda. It was coarse and base and unfitting for those of such a high station to partake in, especially those already bound by marriage. To give in would be to slight his husband, to betray him in the most personal way. Giving himself to another man would be tantamount to high treason, however much good it may do in the long run.

On the other hand, at the same time he was disgracing his kingdom he would also be saving it. If Lyron was true to his word, the Great Demon Kingdom would be liberated from the terror of the Black Knights, and freed from any sort of political obligation a treaty with Isidore may entail. Yuuri would have the peace he'd wanted, their people would be safe from further harm by their enemies, and Wolfram would be absolved of the wrong he'd committed in breaking his oath and signing a Declaration of War.

But was delivering that peace worth forsaking his pride?

"Why should you feel any loss of pride?" Lyron prodded him, returning his hand to his face to caress his lips again. "You will have single handedly saved your kingdom from certain destruction."

Wolfram turned his face to the side and nearly shoved Lyron away from him, but stopped himself from reacting too hastily. He had to endure, he kept telling himself, at least until he thought of a way out of this.

"You're saying if I don't agree, there will be no hope for a treaty?"

"Only if Yuuri agrees to join me against Cimaron."

"Yuuri won't ever agree to that."

"Then you find yourself in quite a predicament, don't you?"

His instinct was to say "no," to deny Lyron his twisted pleasure. He knew it was wrong with every last shred of his soul, yet when he opened his mouth to give his answer, nothing came out. His voice wouldn't work. He wasn't the sort of man to be roped into these things; however, he couldn't stop thinking that he'd have failed in his duties if he left this room without having tried to do _something_ to change the terms of the agreement. He had agreed to attend the holy service specifically so that he could speak with Lyron and see that his husband's ideals were followed.

If he left now, there would be no hope for them. If he agreed, he would never again be able to hold his head high.

"If you find the idea too deplorable, I'm willing to make some concessions," Lyron spoke again.

Wolfram's eyes immediately returned to him, surprised and hopeful.

"It seems you are against full intercourse. I understand you wish to remain devoted to your husband. I can respect that," Lyron said. "And so I make this offer. I would be satisfied and hold to the terms you proposed if-" he paused again, his thumb coming to a stop over Wolfram's lips. "If you were to please me with your mouth."

"I fail to see how that would be any more acceptable," Wolfram immediately responded, grabbing onto Lyron's wrist to pull his hand away. Lyron didn't fight him, but instead twisted his hand to intertwine their fingers.

"You risk a great deal if you refuse," Lyron reminded him, his wide grin still in place. "Why shouldn't you accept such a generous offer? If you don't, your kingdom will be in very grave danger. I can assure you of that. You and I both know your army is no match for mine, and as soon as I overtake Cimaron, I'll have complete access to your borders."

Wolfram's eyes narrowed further. "Are you threatening me?" He tried to pull his hand away, but Lyron's grasp was too strong.

"Threaten you?" Lyron questioned. "I would never think to do such a thing. I am merely encouraging you to see the benefits in what I propose. There are very few people I would let off so easily," he said, lifting his free hand to cup Wolfram's face. "But I have grown fond of you."

"This is absurd!"

"Is it?"

Eventually, Lyron released him, untangling their fingers and pulling his hands away. Wolfram took a step back, his eyes shifting to the door, wondering if he'd have any success if he were to try making a break for it. In the end, he didn't make the attempt, watching Lyron riffle through his jacket as if he were searching for something.

"Here it is," the human king said as he procured a piece of folded parchment. He brandished it gleefully, waving it around in front of him. "If you agree, you and I can sign this straight away. I would gladly accept your signature in place of your husband's."

Wolfram took the parchment from Lyron when it was extended toward him. He unfolded it slowly, keeping a wary eye on Lyron the entire time, before lowering his gaze down to read.

It was a peace treaty, complete with the terms Wolfram had just outlined. Lyron must have known he would attempt to persuade him, and had the document written out ahead of time. It all seemed very formal and well done. Wolfram couldn't detect anything that would be a detriment to the Great Demon Kingdom, except what he would have to do to make it possible.

"Yuuri will never have to know," Lyron continued to entice, his voice lowering seductively. "You can leave my kingdom whenever you wish, at no cost to you or your country."

Wolfram would have laughed if he could actually find it in himself to be amused. No cost, he said? They would be leaving at a great cost! Lyron was asking too much from him.

He tore his gaze away from the sheet of parchment to glance up at his opponent, helpless in the face of such an eminent decision.

He knew what he _wanted _to do. He _wanted_ to say "no." He wanted to deny Lyron his sick desires and return to his and Yuuri's room. Yuuri would never agree to something like this if he knew. In fact, Yuuri would passionately refuse. He could easily tell him what Lyron had suggested and Yuuri would promptly decline. Perhaps with this Yuuri would change his mind about the treaty and accept Lyron's terms. Continuing their war with Cimaron with Lyron at their side really would be preferable to facing the full force of Lyron's army.

But he knew that Yuuri would be against such an alliance even if he was made to sign a treaty supporting it, and because he was against it, Yuuri would agonize over his decision every day that their country was at war. Yuuri had gone through enough already. He'd made the tough choices, faced the dangers of war, and lost even more of his youth and innocence in the process. Yuuri had fought his enemies as well as himself. He deserved peace. He deserved an easy solution. Yuuri deserved everything Wolfram could possibly give him.

Wolfram had stood at the castle entrance, watching his husband going off to battle and wishing he were in his place. Maybe _this_ was his battle, his moment and time to face his self-imposed barriers and vault over them. Maybe this was his moment to undertake something he despised in order to accomplish a loftier pursuit.

Lyron smiled at him and caressed his face again, before taking hold of the chair Yuuri had sat in the day before. Wolfram was unable to look away as the man lowered himself into it, leaning casually against the backrest with his arms hanging over the sides. He sat with his legs spread, his expression straightforward and expectant.

"Come, Wolfram," he cajoled him.

Half reluctant and half resigned, Wolfram's feet slid forward.

"That's it," Lyron coaxed. "You know what the right decision is."

He didn't. He had no idea. There was no way for him to win. If he agreed, he would be a whore for his country; if he declined, he would have sealed their fate and brought destruction upon them. They could try to fend off Lyron's army, but he wasn't certain how long they'd last.

He slid another step closer.

Lyron took his slow approach positively. His grin shrank, but only so he could smile tenderly. It was a strange expression on his otherwise devious face, and completely at odds with his actions. His legs parted a little more, as if to make room for him, and his hands moved to begin unfastening his pants.

Wolfram wanted to look away, but found his eyes focused intently on him. He felt everything else falling away - the table and chairs, the windows, the door, his only exit, no longer blocked but still seemingly out of his reach. He was keenly aware of his solitude, alone with a man who wanted nothing more than to humiliate him, and who'd done so much to influence his life, his marriage. He had been naïve to believe that he could control the process of an agreement better than Yuuri, without the help of his older brother. He'd been so determined to prove himself, to save Yuuri the stress, that he hadn't known he'd been at Lyron's mercy the entire time.

Now it was too late, and he was being forced to choose which was more important - his pride, or the safety of his kingdom.

He feared the answer either way.

"You know what to do, Wolfram," Lyron pressed on, his eyes eager, hungry.

He thought of Yuuri, back in their room waiting for him to return, perhaps pacing around, ranting to Gwendal and his father, trying to come up with a solution that seemed continuously out of his grasp. He thought of the previous evening, the anger and desperation Yuuri had shown to him, his adamant grasp and his dark, possessive eyes, the low timber of his voice and the urgency in his kiss. He thought of the letters Yuuri had sent from the battlefield, the fear he'd expressed, the despondency, and the heart wrenching sobs that had shaken his entire body as he'd confessed to the dreadful deed he'd done in Wolfram's name.

He thought of all the things Yuuri had sacrificed for him, for their kingdom - a normal life, his home, his family, his ideal marriage, his innocence. Yuuri had given in to the pressures of their engagement, had forgiven him his broken oath, and had gone to war and taken a life. Yuuri had made so many changes, so many sacrifices, to become the king they'd wanted, to protect his people, his children, and his husband. Wolfram had always expected great things from him, and had gotten so much more.

Perhaps this was a sacrifice he had to make in return.

"Kneel," Lyron said.

Wolfram sank to his knees.

He didn't know how to do it. He and Yuuri hadn't experimented very much beyond the boundaries of penetration and the use of their hands. They hadn't even so much as discussed it. It was naughty and inappropriate; Wolfram never would have suggested it himself, at least not when he was sober. Sometimes, though, he thought Yuuri might expect it at some point, but as his husband had never remarked on it, he felt it was safe to hold off for a bit longer.

Lyron encouraged him with soft, tender words that chilled Wolfram to the bone, more than the lust in his eyes and the greedy hands that touched him. "Don't be shy," he said.

Wolfram forced himself not to think about what he was doing. It was better to let his thoughts fade into the background like the rest of the room than to remain completely aware of his actions. He closed his eyes as a hand slid into his hair, knocking his crown askew and dislodging a few locks from the neat style he'd twisted it back into. Fingers pressed against his scalp, and Wolfram damned himself to hell.

It was, by far, the most humiliating experience of his entire life. To be kneeling before a foreign king in human lands, passive and obedient, topped Ilyich's assault a hundred fold. It was vulgar and disgusting. He gagged, coughing harshly as he pulled away, fighting against the bile rising in his throat.

"Shh," Lyron soothed him, brushing at his hair almost affectionately. "There's no need to force it."

Wolfram wondered if Lyron would bleed to death if he happened to bite it off.

He did his best to please him, however much he despised the entire ordeal. Initially he thought of Yuuri - his smile, his laughter, the warmth of his hands and the solid support of his chest - but soon the guilt became too much, and he had to force the thoughts away.

As his knees became sore and his jaw grew strained, Wolfram knew that he would never tell Yuuri of this. It would haunt him for the rest of his life, this feeling of defilement, the utter vulnerability. He expected it would have a effect on his relationship with his husband, whether or not Yuuri ever found out. How would he ever be able to do this for his husband without remembering Lyron's smell, the feel of his hand on his hair, the sounds that escaped his throat?

This was a secret he would take with him to his grave, never to be uttered, or even alluded to.

It seemed to take forever. He was relieved when it was over, gagging again as he pulled back. Wolfram wanted to be sick. For once he would have liked to have thrown up, to purge himself of what he'd just done, to force as much of Lyron out of him as he could. His wish was almost granted, but his gagging eased before he could wretch, and the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach settled.

Lyron remained lounging in his chair, his eyes closed as he basked in completion. Eventually, his eyes slit open to look down at him, and Wolfram glared back, feeling a sudden sense of hate for what Lyron had made him do. He had fought with himself before, but he knew now what he'd been trying to ignore then - that his refusal to comply would have put his loyalty to his country in question. He would have denied Lyron out of selfishness - to preserve his own honor and pride - and then what right would he have had to called himself a Prince of the Great Demon Kingdom?

Lyron's desire and Wolfram's instinct to refuse forced him to become even more aware of his selfish compulsions, and for that he hated Lyron - more than he hated the father who'd left him, more than he hated the Aristocrats who insulted him, and more than he hated Ilyich for showing the world just how vulnerable he really was.

"Very good," Lyron said softly, reaching out to caress Wolfram's face. "You surprise me, Wolfram. The lengths you'll go to save your people, to serve your husband…"

Wolfram smacked his hand away and quickly rose to his feet. He shook with anger and mortification, and wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Lyron's neck and squeeze until he could breathe no more.

Lyron simply smiled and straightened his clothing. "I am pleased," he said, pausing to retrieve something from the floor before standing as well.

He held the treaty, which Wolfram hadn't even realized he'd dropped. It was a bit crumpled but still intact, waiting for their respective signatures.

Lyron wasted no time and moved around the table to retrieve a quill and a small pot of ink. He dipped the tip of the quill into the dark liquid and scrawled his name, lightly blowing on the parchment as if to make the ink dry faster. Satisfied, he handed the quill to Wolfram.

Wolfram signed his name quickly and harshly, hardly even looking at the document as he did so, before throwing the quill onto the table and backing away.

"If we're done here, I think I'll be going," he said. It was rather rude of him to be taking such liberties with a foreign king, but he thought Lyron had taken enough liberties with him to warrant the harsher treatment.

"Not so fast," Lyron halted him, grabbing his arm and turning him back around.

Wolfram almost sagged in resignation but somehow managed to keep himself upright. "What else could you possibly want?"

Hadn't he given him enough?

Lyron chuckled and stroked his face again. "There are many things I want from you, Wolfram, and I am confident I will have them all in due time," he said. He leaned in and kissed him gently; Wolfram no longer had the strength or self-respect to stop him. "For now I am content. I truly envy Yuuri, that he should have you when there is nothing I want more."

Wolfram looked away. He flinched at the mention of his husband. Already the guilt was eating away at him.

"He does not always treat you well, does he?" Lyron wondered. His hand rose to straighten Wolfram's crown, then tucked another errant strand behind his ear.

"Yuuri treats me far better than I should expect," Wolfram replied quietly. Perhaps they weren't always equal, but he was beginning to wonder if he even deserved the equality.

"Yet he cannot always control his temper," Lyron observed, his pale eyes still sparkling. His unoccupied hand circled around Wolfram's back, inching lower.

Wolfram didn't answer.

"He was rough with you last night, wasn't he?" Lyron asked with a wicked smirk. He squeezed with his hand, ruthlessly grabbing at Wolfram's backside. His fingers dug between his buttocks, and irritated the already sensitive flesh. It stung; Wolfram felt a sharp stab of pain.

He ripped himself away from the human king, shoving Lyron from him hard enough to have the man careening back into the table with a clattering of chairs. He hardly thought of the repercussions of his actions. His emotions were on edge, his control slacking. He wanted to leave, and he wanted Lyron far, far away from him.

"How dare you?" Wolfram seethed, surprised when his voice didn't raise. It sounded harsh with disgust and hatred, regardless. "You have no right to touch me."

Lyron regained his composure without much effort, seeming amused by Wolfram's sudden turn in behavior. "Does Yuuri please you where I can not?" he continued, his grin widening. He took a step forward, reaching out as if he intended to touch him again. "One day I hope I shall be able to hear you beg for it just as passionately."

Wolfram's eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. His stomach plummeted, his heart ceasing its rapid beating. Lyron could easily be spouting off nonsense as a means of getting a reaction out of him, but something in his voice, something in his eyes, something in the predatory smile on his face told Wolfram otherwise.

He was never aware of it when it happened, too lost in the pleasure of Yuuri's mouth and hands, and the delight he felt in being one with him, but when his pleasure had peaked and Wolfram returned to his senses he could remember every moment of his bliss. He would blush and grow quiet for a time, hearing his own voice in his head - "please, please, please."

"We're done here," Wolfram said, his voice shaking. He stepped back toward the door. "I'm leaving."

"So you are," Lyron agreed, making no move to stop him. "Do tell Yuuri I look forward to the conclusion of your visit."

Wolfram gave no indication of agreement. He stumbled back, crashing against the door when he tripped over his own feet in his anxiousness, gripping at the door handle and fumbling with it before he was finally able to pry the door open. He rushed out, trembling in his disgrace. He took deep breaths of air, feeling less confined in the hallway than he had in the meeting room. Lyron's eyes followed him, joined now by Louis' cool stare, which caused Wolfram's skin to prick uncomfortably.

Standing to one side of the door, Louis' eyes swept over his frame. His mouth was turned down, and he looked at Wolfram with a fair amount of disgust. He sneered menacingly, then took Wolfram's place in the room and shut the door.

Wolfram could feel Lyron's gaze through the barrier, and it made his stomach churn.

Conrart caught him, taking him by the shoulders and supporting him while he shuddered. His brother's face was white with shock, his hazel eyes wider than Wolfram had ever seen them. He almost looked angry, holding Wolfram with a harsh press of hands, though that could have very well been to keep him from collapsing. Hastily, he dragged him down the hall, away from Lyron but no closer to safety.

"What have you done?" Conrart asked him, quiet but fierce. He stopped when they'd turned a corner onto another hall, holding Wolfram away from him and eyeing him closely.

"Shut up," Wolfram said.

"What have you done?" Conrart asked him again, though by the sound of his voice it seemed as if he already knew. He'd been standing at the door the entire time. He and Louis must have heard everything.

"Shut up," Wolfram repeated. He may as well have been begging. "Shut up, shut up."

"Wolfram," Conrart tried, but if he intended to soothe or chide him, he ended up doing neither. His expression changed and he gazed at him sadly, trying to look him in the eye. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

A lie. His jaw ached, his backside felt raw from when Lyron had grabbed him, and his heart felt like it had split in half.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

Another lie. Conrart didn't look like he believed this one. He frowned and tried to pull Wolfram to him in a hug, but Wolfram didn't let him. He brought his hands up to fend him off, struggling away and taking a step back.

"I'm fine," he said.

Conrart didn't attempt to force him to admit otherwise. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

"I just saved us!" Wolfram exclaimed, trying to make himself believe it.

In the end, it was nothing more than a temporary agreement made by he and Lyron in secret. Lyron might abide by it for a time; some part of Wolfram thought Lyron had enough honor to at least do that. But once he overtook Cimaron - and he was sure to - what was to stop him from progressing even further at that point, and entering the Great Demon Kingdom again?

"I had to do it, Conrart!" he persisted. "There wasn't any other choice!"

"You could have refused."

"And then what?"

Conrart didn't respond. He continued to look at Wolfram, his face a mix of sadness and disappointment. Wolfram flinched away from it, feeling cold, his heart throbbing painfully.

Conrart's disappointment hurt him worse than Gwendal's had.

"I had to," he insisted. Even now he couldn't think of a better alternative. What could he have done but allow Lyron to destroy everything?

"Yuuri would never have agreed to that," Conrart told him, one hand going to the hilt of his sword, gripping it tightly. Wolfram was certain it had been hard for him to stand by when he'd surely wanted nothing more than to burst into that room and slit Lyron's throat.

"You're not going to tell Yuuri," Wolfram replied.

"Wolfram, I'm obligated-"

"To hell with your loyalty!" He grabbed Conrart with both hands fisting the collar of his jacket. He shook him roughly, as if he could force him to agree. "Where's your loyalty to me? I'm your brother!"

That gave Conrart pause. Wolfram had known it would. Not since they'd been young had Wolfram referred to him as his brother. Fifty years after he'd found out that Conrart was half-human, he still felt betrayed by him. But he needed his brother right now, needed him now more than he ever had or would.

"I know I'm not you, I know I'm not Gwendal," Wolfram said, desperate to gain his silence. "I know I'll never be like either one of you, but I'm trying!" Perhaps a little too hard, he thought, but for most of his life he'd had little else to aim for. "Yuuri wants peace," he reminded him. "What other choice did I have?"

Conrart shook his head, but he appeared to be faltering. "Yuuri would never want you to do something like that for the sake of peace. It isn't worth it."

"Isn't it?" Wolfram shook him again. "You didn't see him when you left after the meeting last night, Conrart! You don't know how much this is effecting him!"

"What do you mean?"

"He's changing." Wolfram lowered his voice. There were guards around and he didn't want them to hear. "There are times when he's not himself anymore. Surely you've seen it."

The thoughtful expression Conrart adopted confirmed it.

"At this rate, he won't last through a lengthy war. You know that. You saw him yesterday, how hard it was for him to stay in control. If I didn't do something, what do you think would happen? He'd go crazy trying to hold back, or he wouldn't bother and he'd destroy everything. He'd exhaust himself. Like Julia."

It was Conrart's turn to flinch, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, his grip still tight on his sword.

"I'm not proud of this, Conrart. There's nothing I want more than to go back in there and kill him with my own hands, but I won't. I can't. I went with him today knowing I could make a difference, and if getting on my knees and enduring his humiliation is what it takes to get what we want then…" he paused to swallow. The revulsion still twisted his stomach into knots, but he could feel his strength returning as he spoke, his determination setting fire. "Then so be it."

Yuuri was worth it, he kept telling himself. Yuuri was worth so much.

He could see Conrart fighting with himself, warring between his anger and disappointment, and his knowledge that Wolfram was right. If Yuuri was to remain sane, if Yuuri was to survive to lead their people into a new age, then they needed peace, they needed as much of Yuuri's ideal as they could accomplish, at least until they determined what was wrong and how to stop it. Wolfram didn't want to protect Yuuri so much that they prevented him from growing as an individual, but he also didn't want Yuuri to lose himself in the process.

Yuuri was too precious to him. Yuuri was everything, had _become_ everything, and if he lost him now he'd have nothing.

"Don't tell him, Conrart," he petitioned his brother, letting him see his desperation if that's what it took to get him to agree. "Please. Please, don't be a soldier right now. Be my brother. Help me help Yuuri. Help me save him."

Conrart met his helpless expression with one that was just as feeble. He shut his eyes and clenched his jaw in frustration, but nodded. Wolfram stared at him in relief, and watched his hand fall from the hilt of his sword.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you, Conrart."

Conrart didn't respond. He lifted his hands to Wolfram's hair instead, and helped him put everything back into place. He'd come out of the meeting room looking disheveled, but would return to Yuuri looking as perfect and proper as ever.

They went back together, silently. There was nothing else for either one of them to say. If Conrart resented being sworn to silence, he didn't show it. He looked at Wolfram with concern and walked close to him, making sure no one else dared to step forward. Wolfram didn't mind the sudden show of protectiveness. It soothed him in ways it hadn't since he was a child. If he was worried now, all he had to do was look at his brother and know he had his support, his understanding.

Conrart opened the door for him and ushered him inside, closing it on the rest of the castle and bringing an end to any conversation about what had happened with Lyron.

Wolfram knew it would never be spoken of between them again.

Yuuri saw him as soon as he entered, and Wolfram knew by the look of relief on his husband's face that he'd made the right choice. He didn't fight when Yuuri came forward to hug him. He grasped at him tightly and sighed when Yuuri's arms slipped around him.

Yuuri was worth it, he continued to think. Worth every moment.

"Wolfram," Yuuri said his name softly, kissing his hair. "I was so worried."

He swooped in to press their lips together. Wolfram almost stopped him, mindful of where his mouth had just been, but to do so would have made Yuuri suspicious. He forced himself not to react negatively, kissing him back lightly. Inside, he apologized for the deception and hoped he'd have time to wash out his mouth before Yuuri kissed him any deeper than that.

"I told you I'd be fine," Wolfram replied when they broke away, doing his best to appear convincing. "I wasn't gone for long."

"Did he try anything?" Yuuri asked, looking him over as if to make sure he was still intact.

"Of course not. We went to the service and then we talked about the treaty."

"Did he change his mind?"

Wolfram hesitated for only a moment before deciding how to answer. "I'm not sure yet. He was rather evasive about everything. I think he'd rather discuss it with you."

Yuuri frowned, obviously not looking forward to speaking with him again. Wolfram could hardly blame him.

He fought the urge to look away guiltily and tried to turn Yuuri's mind to other concerns. "I think we've been spied on," he said.

Four pairs of eyes looked at him in apprehension. His father and Gwendal sat at a small table with glasses of wine in front of them. A third glass sat empty in front of another chair, where Yuuri had most likely been sitting before. Neither of them asked him what he meant, but the looks they gave him made it apparent that they expected an explanation. Conrart reacted similarly, though since he'd heard what Lyron had said and probably inferred what he'd meant on his own, Wolfram was sure his confusion was nothing more than an act.

"What do you mean?" Yuuri was the one to question him.

"Some of the things he said…" Wolfram tried, but didn't know how to finish. Frustrated, he started again. "He knew things. Things he shouldn't have known. About us." He paused and lowered his voice. "He knows that I… He knows about last night."

Yuuri's eyes widened. He looked both shocked and guilty, but at the moment he was too concerned about the potential spy to give in to his remorse. "How?" he wondered.

Wolfram didn't know. He hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary when they'd been alone.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father rise from his chair. Wolfgang didn't meet his gaze, but he wandered around the room, glancing at everything - the vanity, the wardrobe, the window curtains, the paintings that decorated the walls. Everything - from the crystal vases to the rich bed-coverings - seemed innocent and inconspicuous; he would expect nothing less in a royal castle.

Nothing seemed to rouse his father's suspicions until he came to a decorative tapestry. It portrayed a unicorn, sprinting through a field of green as it was pursued by hunters.

His father pulled back the edge of it and revealed the entrance of an empty, darkened hallway.

A secret passage.

They should have expected it, but Wolfram still felt his stomach do a sickening flip. The position of the passageway and the lay of the tapestry provided a clear view of the bed.

Yuuri's face paled, his eyes wide with horror. "We're leaving," he said. His voice was like ice. "We're leaving right now."

No one argued. Wolfram could only nod.

* * *

Lyron smirked from his position by one of the windows in his temporary living quarters, looking out over the front grounds of castle Braith. A flurry of activity occurred below, though he wasn't surprised by the suddenness of his guests' departure; he'd been depending on it. The Demon King's retainers rushed to ready the carriage and their horses, aided by a few of his own soldiers. The Demon King himself stood off to the side, waiting amongst the protection of his guards, his beautiful husband, marred by guilt and corrupted innocence, remained close to him.

It was almost as if the Prince was trying to hide behind him. The image made Lyron chuckle.

He knew what the Prince was trying to hide from.

"You'll soon be mine, Wolfram," he said, lifting his hand to the glass. A great distance existed between them, yet Lyron felt as if they'd never been closer. He could still feel the boy's mouth, still see the fire in his eyes. It excited him, made him crave the boy more.

"Your Majesty," Louis called, coming up beside him. "Will you let them leave?"

"The agreement's been made," he answered him, never tearing his eyes away from the crowd below. "We'll be calling the soldiers back immediately. I always keep my word. They have no further business in the Demon Kingdom."

"He has blinded you," Louis observed. He didn't sound angry, or even disappointed by the thought. Then again, Louis never sounded as if he felt anything.

"No," Lyron denied, "he has not. I have not given up on the Demon Kingdom entirely."

"But you will not attack them."

"Not now. Not until I have what I want."

"Even now you are unsatisfied?"

Lyron's smirk widened as he glanced at his courtier. "Do you question my motives, Louis? Has your new position caused you to grow bold?"

"I am merely concerned."

"Of what?" Lyron asked, reaching out to take him by the neck. It was an affectionate enough gesture; he held it loosely, caressing his thumb over the apple of Louis' throat. "Do you fear losing my favor?"

Louis neither confirmed or denied it, but continued to look at him with vacant eyes.

"Of course you don't," he answered for him, amused. "Nor should you. You are mine, Louis. You are no Wolfram, but even you cannot be replaced. I plan to keep you at my side until the end. Will that please you?"

"Your Majesty's happiness pleases me."

"My happiness," Lyron observed. He released Louis' neck and turned back to the window. "Currently my happiness rests on one person."

"The Demon Prince."

"Yes. He is beautiful, is he not?"

"Beyond compare," Louis agreed. His voice was lifeless, disinterested.

"And yet you despise him," Lyron concluded. He knew by Louis' eyes that he was right. When Louis looked at Wolfram, they grew colder than usual. "Why? Perhaps you cannot compare to him in beauty, but he shall never compare to you in skill."

"Precisely. He is incompetent."

"I do not want him for his sword, Louis."

"And so he shall serve you well."

Lyron chuckled again. "He is not yet within my grasp," he said. "But he will be."

"You signed a treaty with him," Louis reminded him.

"I did," Lyron acknowledged. "I agreed that I would no longer attack his kingdom," he informed him, feeling his smirk grow wider. "I never said anything about attacking him in my own."

Wolfram thought he had the upper hand. Wolfram thought with one little sacrifice he'd been able to pave the way for his husband's ideal future. What a fool he was to think that Lyron had no further plans for him. Unknowingly, the boy had walked right into Lyron's trap. Now he was caught, and Lyron had no intention of letting him go.

He was a fool, but a pretty one. And so very sweet.

"Bring him to me, Louis," he ordered, watching as Yuuri and Wolfram climbed into the carriage to be concealed within it.

Louis bowed deeply. When he rose again he was smiling, but he showed no happiness. Louis never would. He had been bred for ruthlessness, for savagery, and for blood.

And blood would be shed this day.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

**TBC…**

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A/N:** There were a few paragraphs I had to edit or cut out because I was concerned about them being too graphic. I've grown a bit cautious about some of the explicit scenes in the more recent chapters. Some of you may have noticed that I've temporarily deleted some scenes from previous chapters. I'll add them back in once I've taken the time to edit them and make them more appropriate. Regardless, all chapters have been posted in their entirety on my writing Livejournal. Feel free to read them there. Just click on "homepage" in my profile.**  
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	28. Défendre

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. All of the original characters were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guine-chan

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and sexual content.

**Pairings(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram

**Rating:** M

**A/N:** Thank you all for your wonderful comments and reviews! I think I managed to get back to everyone this time, but there may still have been a few I missed. I'll try to get back to you all just as quickly this time!

One more chapter and an epilogue to go! I'm so excited!

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_**Love and War**_

**by Mikage**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight – Défendre – To Defend**

The carriage jostled as they meandered down the dirt road leading from castle Braith. The windows rattled, their surrounding curtains swinging gently, and the wheels squeaked and groaned over every rock or pothole in their path. Above, the sky had turned a murky gray; the wind whistled through the naked trees, carrying a lingering breath of winter. While the human realms celebrated the traditional first day of spring, cool air wafted through Isidore that left its landscape stark.

Wolfram stared through the window, his mood as bleak as their surroundings.

The main road into the castle town where their ship was currently docked had been blocked off for the day due to the May Day celebrations, though Wolfram wondered how any of the townspeople could possibly feel like celebrating when everything looked so gloomy; he'd have expected this sort of weather two or three months ago, not now. They'd been diverted onto another path through an empty forest instead. It might have been pretty if the leaves had been more than buds on the tree branches, and if the flowers were actually given a chance to bloom.

The more Wolfram learned of this country, the more unfavorable he found it. How anyone could possibly tolerate the extended cold was beyond him. He would be glad to return to the Demon Kingdom, to familiarity and warmth.

Leaving Isidore so quickly made him anxious, but staying when he no longer felt safe within the castle walls would have only enhanced his apprehension. Yuuri wanted to leave; Wolfram saw no point in quarreling over their hasty departure. The sooner they left, the less he'd have to look at Lyron, and the easier it would be for him to put his rash actions behind him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Yuuri asked, watching him in concern.

Wolfram nodded but didn't tear his eyes away from the scenery. He and Yuuri sat opposite one another, alone in the carriage with no other distractions. It was the first time they'd been alone since that morning, before Wolfram had accompanied Lyron to the holy service, and Wolfram felt distinctly uncomfortable by their isolation. He would have rather ridden on horseback with the rest of the soldiers. With Yuuri, he had nothing more to dwell on than the intense guilt clawing away at his heart.

Yuuri sighed when he didn't speak. "Why aren't you talking to me?"

"I have a lot on my mind."

It was true enough. He continued to go over the events in the office again and again, wondering if there was something else he could have done, something else he could have said to escape the path he'd inevitably taken. Doing as Lyron willed had seemed the only choice at the time. Even now, when he'd had a few hours to consider it, he couldn't come up with any alternatives, at least not any that would have made things easier for Yuuri.

"I wish you'd at least look at me," Yuuri said sadly.

Wolfram shifted his eyes but didn't turn much to face him. Looking at Yuuri was not necessary to sense his concern; Wolfram could feel it seeping from him in a torrent that filled the entire carriage. Yuuri had tried to talk to him many times since they'd found the secret passage, but Wolfram wouldn't allow it. He kept his husband at a distance, wanting space, wanting time to cope.

He had been rash and foolish; he knew that. He had allowed his recklessness to temporarily blind him. Attempting a private discussion with Lyron had been a mistake. He'd been lured in by Lyron's interest, believing the man's desire for him would give him more of an influence over him, led astray by Lyron's distorted treaty. He'd thought it would be simpler for Yuuri this way, and maybe it was, but it was not so simple for him. He'd committed a grave crime – against his kingdom and his conscience – and he became more aware of his error as they drew further away.

"Wolfram," Yuuri said his name softly, his gaze growing cautious. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied, returning his attention to the barren trees.

"You look upset."

"I'm not."

He heard Yuuri sigh again. He hated himself for lying to him, but he'd hate himself more if Yuuri knew the truth.

"Is it because we were spied on?" Yuuri asked. There was a momentary pause, then movement as Yuuri crossed the space between them to sit beside him. "I'm sorry. I should have had the others check our room as soon as we got there."

"Mmm," Wolfram agreed. He didn't think it would have made much of a difference in the outcome of their visit, but at least they would have been saved the degradation.

"Wolfram," Yuuri tried again. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like people knowing about us. I mean, about what we do. I didn't think they'd be watching us. I guess I should have, though. We have Yozak, so why shouldn't they have a spy, too?"

Wolfram nodded again. Knowing they'd been watched was certainly mortifying. The terror he'd experienced upon finding out still coiled in his stomach. Since the moment their relationship began changing, Wolfram had labored to keep their intimate moments private. The idea that others might know what he and Yuuri did together was disturbing. He felt vulnerable enough being naked around Yuuri, lying beneath him; knowing that people were aware of it, that someone had seen, made him feel ill.

"It's alright to be embarrassed, Wolf. I don't like it either."

He felt a hand on his arm, rubbing through his jacket. The comfort was welcoming, but did little to ease him. He knew he should be stronger than this. He didn't have the luxury to capitulate to his guilt. Yuuri needed him, now more than ever.

Wolfram glanced to the side, finally meeting his husband's eye. "I'm fine," he said, but he knew it didn't sound believable.

"You're not," Yuuri insisted. "You're never fine when you stare off into space like that. I know something's wrong when you're not focused."

Wolfram frowned. It was only natural for Yuuri to be able to read him so well after five years, but he couldn't like it at that particular moment. Yuuri's perceptiveness made it much more difficult to hide things from him.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else that's bothering you?" he asked, gently taking him by the shoulders. "Are you sure nothing happened?"

In Yuuri's eyes, Wolfram could see fear behind his concern, fear that Wolfram wasn't telling him everything, fear that he'd missed something important. He didn't think Yuuri had any idea what had happened in the meeting room; if he did, he was sure Yuuri wouldn't be this calm. The suspicion worried him either way. What if Yuuri kept digging and eventually happened across the truth?

Wolfram forced a smile. "I didn't sleep well last night," he said, "and dealing with Lyron is tiring. I'll be alright once I've rested."

It wasn't the best diversion, but it was all he had. Yuuri's expression of concern was quickly replaced by one of shame, and his hands dropped from Wolfram's shoulders. Wolfram hid his own guilt the best he could, knowing where Yuuri's thoughts were straying to.

"I'm sorry. Last night was my fault."

"I could have said 'no.'"

"I'm not sure I would have listened," Yuuri quietly admitted.

Wolfram didn't know what to say. Some part of his mind had wondered what Yuuri would have done if he'd told him to stop, but he'd tried to ignore it. He didn't think he wanted to know. It had been such a strange experience without that sort of conflict. He couldn't even decide if it had been Yuuri or his other self, or some strange combination of the two. There had been moments when he could have been one or the other, and moments when he could have been something else.

"Don't say things like that. Of course you would have," he countered, trying to sound convincing.

The truth was he wasn't so sure himself.

He tried to sort through the emotions, and attribute them to their respective halves. Certainly the anger belonged to the Demon King; the glowing blue energy had been proof enough that he was at least emerging, whether or not he ever fully came to the fore. The desperation, he was sure, had been Yuuri's; unable to contain his fervor and not knowing how to safely release it, Yuuri had turned to him for help. His speech, deep and demanding, had been the Demon King through and through. It was still Yuuri's voice, but Wolfram would never mistake the dark resonance for anything but a transformation – partial as it may have been.

It was the possessiveness that confused him, and frightened him more than he wanted to admit. He couldn't decide who it had belonged to. Yuuri had shown protectiveness before, but never anything like that. To be so thoroughly domineering wasn't his style; he was gentle and considerate, even in moments of lessened control. The Demon King, on the other hand, could be quite intolerant when it came to others infringing upon his rights. Wolfram could recount numerous displays of righteousness, all incited by situations of danger and injustice.

What frightened him was that the Demon King had never shown any interest in him before, and he wouldn't know how to respond if that had changed. Wolfram had escaped his first confrontation with him with nothing more than bumps and bruises, chilled to the bone by torrential rain and the water serpents that had squeezed the air from his lungs. Their subsequent confrontations hadn't been nearly as personal – he'd either been ignored or treated no differently than Yuuri's other subjects. Except for once on a cold, dreary mountaintop, the Demon King had never come into physical contact with him.

What was he supposed to do if that changed? Was he _supposed_ to respond to his advances, give himself to the Demon King the way he gave himself to Yuuri? Or would doing so be another form of betrayal? What exactly was Yuuri's other self? Were they two different beings trapped in one body, or one being with a divided consciousness? Was Yuuri the Demon King, or was the Demon King Yuuri? Would one replace the other one day? If so, which one, and how long did they have until that occurred? Would Yuuri still be his husband then?

Perhaps he was worrying about it too much. It could very well be that Yuuri's anger and frustration had grown to such a level that disturbances like this were bound to happen. If the world settled down, if they were granted peace, maybe Yuuri would return to normal.

"I feel like there's something you're not telling me," Yuuri said, watching him dejectedly. He fidgeted, looking away in shame before meeting his eyes again with remorse. "Did I really hurt you that badly?"

"No!" Wolfram exclaimed, emphatically shaking his head.

If he could have denied it quicker, he would have. Their passionate coupling the night before had indeed been painful, but Wolfram was certain he could have handled more if he'd needed to. If it afflicted him now, it was only because of Lyron's wandering hand, grabbing at him harshly and aggravating the torn flesh.

"You don't have to lie to me," Yuuri told him. "It isn't going to make me feel any better about it."

"I'm not lying."

Yuuri eyed him disbelievingly.

"Yes, it hurt," Wolfram allowed, seeing no point in denying that. "But I'll heal, Yuuri. Just give it a few days."

His husband frowned and turned away from him. "You shouldn't have to deal with me being like that."

"Who would if not me?"

"No one should have to. I should be able to control myself better than that. It's been five years since I started using my magic. You'd think I'd know how to stop a transformation. It's not like I haven't done it before."

"The situation's a bit different now that it was five years ago, Yuuri."

"Right. I'm older now. I've been training. I should be better at this."

"I wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"I learned that from you."

Wolfram looked away, glancing back out the window. "I don't know what you mean."

They stayed like that for a while, each of them glancing to the side, Wolfram with his eyes focused out the window and Yuuri with his lowered to the floor of the carriage. Neither of them spoke, too stubborn to come to an agreement. Wolfram wouldn't accept Yuuri's apology for something he didn't believe he was responsible for, and Yuuri wouldn't stop blaming himself. An awkward silence fell over them for the first time in months; it settled firmly between them, full of shame and regret, and creating a distance that hadn't separated them since the weeks following their wedding.

Wolfram didn't like it, but at the same time he wasn't sure how to bridge the gap.

He returned to his former occupation and studied their surroundings. The trees moved passed in a continuous, desolate line – nothing more than brown bark reaching into a dismal sky. It was a forlorn image, sad and vacant, a cheerless landscape for a cheerless country. He saw no single sign of life, not even a gull from the harbor, soaring through the salted air; nothing so much as a squirrel crossed their path. It was as if everything but the trees had ceased to exist.

He thought it was a perfect representation of Isidore and what Isidore had come to mean to him. Cold and hostile, it reached for him with rough arms and ghastly fingers. His jaw gave a twinge in remembrance; his backside ached in return. He could almost feel the forest closing in on him, threatening to swallow him alive.

Growing increasingly despondent, Wolfram forced his vision to focus on something else. Tentatively, he looked at Yuuri. His husband sat a few inches away from him, his palms resting on his legs, fingers twitching against the fabric of his pants. Yuuri's jaw was firmly set, the muscles working as he surrendered himself to thought and memory. He'd turned from Wolfram to stare out the opposite window, though there wasn't anything more to see.

Before, Wolfram would have slid closer to him, placed a hand on his shoulder or wrapped his arms around him. He wasn't good at comfort, but he would have attempted to give it all the same, speaking to him with soft words, kissing him as his fingers combed through Yuuri's hair. He felt the impulse to do so, but it was battered down. His thoughts wouldn't let him react the way he wanted to. All he could think of now was Lyron's eyes, sharp and dangerous and filled with lust.

He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, eager to return home.

"I'm scared, Wolfram," Yuuri said suddenly, his hands gripping tightly to his own thighs.

Wolfram regarded him with surprise, his disgust temporarily replaced with a sense of disquiet. "Why?" he asked, tempted to reach out for him but holding himself back.

"I keep thinking about what I did before, and sometimes I think it wasn't so bad."

"What do you mean?" Wolfram wondered, confused by his unspecific explanation.

"When I killed Ilyich," Yuuri replied. He still spoke of it quietly, but the sadness that usually overcame his voice when he said the man's name wasn't there.

"It's been a while since then, Yuuri. You're bound to look at it differently."

"But sometimes…" he started and trailed off. The muscles around his eyes tightened. "Sometimes I think I could do it again."

"Do what again?"

"Kill someone."

Wolfram wanted to tell him that that was absurd, that he was too good and too noble to take another life, but he wasn't confident enough in it himself. Furthermore, he didn't believe killing a man was such a bad thing so long as it was done for the right reasons. Ilyich had deserved his fate, and there were plenty of men out there who merited similar treatment. In killing him, Yuuri had exacted justice. It may not have complied with his morals, but it adhered to his principles – he'd defended the innocent and dispensed with the wicked.

"Yesterday, I thought, 'If I killed Lyron, would it be such a bad thing?'" Yuuri said. His voice sounded a bit hoarse, like he was fighting back emotion. "I knew I could have done it. I knew it wouldn't have been hard. I was so close to just… giving in."

"Why didn't you?"

Yuuri shrugged, frowning. "You stopped me."

Wolfram remembered the wild look in Yuuri's eyes the night before, how hot his skin had felt to the touch of his hand, exuding potent energy, crackling and sparking in his frenzied state. He'd known Yuuri had been close to transforming, but he hadn't realized just what sorts of thoughts had been going through his mind. He'd assumed it had been anger; he hadn't suspected it could be something more, that Yuuri had considered unleashing his powers for the purpose of disposing of Lyron.

He couldn't say for sure whether he would have stopped Yuuri if it had come to that, and the thought caused his guilt to grow further.

Yuuri depended on him to stop him before he could go that far, to talk sense into him before he could lose his mind. What kind of person was he if he couldn't even do that anymore?

Struggling against his hesitation, Wolfram took hold of Yuuri's shoulder and forced him to look at him. "We'll get through this," he said, unsure exactly what he was referring to himself. "We can do this together, like we always have."

"I'm afraid that it won't be so easy this time," Yuuri replied, slowly being consumed by sorrow.

Wolfram met him with a helpless expression, unsure what he was supposed to do, before reacting in the only way he was confident would help Yuuri to rebuild his strength and confidence. He leaned forward and kissed him.

He felt dirty when he pressed their lips together, even if he'd had the opportunity to wash his mouth out since his meeting with Lyron. A sense of worthlessness rose in him that was difficult to push down. His betrayal cut through him, hanging in the air between them like a ghostly specter, waiting to be revealed. He could feel his confession at the tip of his tongue; he pressed against Yuuri's lips harder, struggling to keep it in.

Yuuri didn't respond immediately, but soon his arms were around him, clinging with the desperation Wolfram was slowly growing accustomed to. Seeking to atone for his guilt, Wolfram leaned closer, clambering onto his knees to straddle his husband, bringing his hands up to gently cradle Yuuri's face. He longed for some sort of release, some means of absolution. He wanted peace and happiness; he wanted an easy life with Yuuri, Greta, and Merry. He wanted all the darkness and all the pain to fade away.

He felt his eyes prick and squeezed them shut against the building moisture. His heart lurched as his emotions threatened to take hold. Now was not the time to weep, he told himself. He was stronger than that. He had enough pride left to face up to his actions and accept his iniquity. Moreover, if Yuuri saw, he would know that something was wrong, and then he wouldn't rest until he discovered what it was.

Wolfram was afraid of what would happen if he did. He'd never been so afraid of anything in his entire life, and he wondered if he'd begun to take Yuuri's fears as his own. They shared happiness and misery; why should they not share terror as well?

Abruptly, Yuuri tensed and broke the kiss. Wolfram pulled back in confusion, but only so far as to hover above him. Against his better judgment, he opened his stinging eyes and took in Yuuri's expression – an amalgamation of keen alertness and bewilderment.

"What is it?" he asked warily.

Yuuri's eyes lost their focus. Wolfram could have sworn he saw the pupils contract into slits before returning to normal.

"I can sense something," Yuuri said. Though his pattern of speech sounded normal enough, his voice had grown deeper, quieter.

The carriage jerked to a stop.

Wolfram blinked at the sudden halt in motion, studying Yuuri's face for a moment longer before pulling further away. Yuuri didn't stop him, but straightened in his seat and turned his head to glance out the window. He exuded a strange mix of intensity and calm that made Wolfram uneasy.

Following the direction of his gaze, Wolfram's sight returned to the somber forest, only now instead of nothing more than trees, he glimpsed the flank of Conrart's horse. He'd come to a stop beside the carriage, his steed impatiently pawing the ground. He held the reins with only one hand; the other had gone to the hilt of his sword.

Wolfram reached for the window and pushed it open, leaning out to identify the source of the disturbance.

"Conrart, what's going on? Why did we stop?"

Conrart gave a short shake of his head but didn't look at him. "Stay in the carriage."

"Why? What is it?"

"Stay in the carriage," he repeated.

Wolfram heard movement from the forest around them – the _'shing'_ of a sword being drawn from its sheath, the rustling of dead undergrowth, the snapping of a twig.

"Conrart…"

"Get back inside and close the window," his brother demanded.

Wolfram felt a hand on his shoulder preparing to pull him back in, but he jerked away from it and leaned further out. He could see around the horses leading them, along the length of the worn dirt path. A solitary figure was blocking their way, a slender young man in opulent clothing under shining black armor. He held a naked sword in one hand. His ash brown hair shifted in the breeze. Even from the distance, Wolfram knew a pair of steely, pale green eyes was staring straight at him.

"Louis," he hissed the name. His heart began to pound, sending a swift current of blood through his veins.

He ignored Yuuri's presence at his back. His husband had stopped trying to pull him back in and now leaned out to check the disruption with him. Wolfram quickly swept his eyes around the area, spying a few more knights emerging from behind thick tree trunks. He cursed, knowing there would be no means of escape if these soldiers were intent on challenging them. The closed main road hadn't offered them many other alternatives in travel, and now they'd inadvertently walked straight into an ambush. They should have expected this. They shouldn't have been so blind.

Always in dealing with Lyron they seemed to be one step behind.

He heard Yuuri's muttered swear and felt hands pulling at him again, but he struggled away from them. His eyes rose to the tree branches, large and thick and leafless. He saw an archer perched on one of them, aiming a crossbow into their midst.

"Conrart! In the trees!"

The world erupted into chaos in a matter of seconds. In the short space of time it took for his brother to shift his gaze upward, the crossbow was fired and the arrow pierced through the neck of their unsuspecting driver. Wolfram saw a spray of blood out of the corner of his eye before the horses whinnied loudly and reared. The carriage jerked back. Wolfram moved out of the way just in time for the window to snap shut with a rattle of glass. He stumbled and landed hard on the seat, his back colliding with Yuuri's chest.

There was movement all around. Swords were drawn by the soldiers outside their coach. The carriage jerked again, back and forth, as the horses went wild with fright. He heard the whistling of more arrows raining down from above. One of them lodged itself into the roof of the carriage with a _'thunk.'_ Wolfram ducked and was pulled down lower by Yuuri, as the horses screamed before going suddenly silent. The carriage lurched forward one last time, and then stilled.

"Shit!" Yuuri cursed, crouching low on the floor. "Wolf, are you okay?"

Wolfram nodded. Aside from almost getting his fingers shut in the window, he hadn't been close to danger. "I'm fine," he said. He tried to make for the window again, but Yuuri had an arm tight around him. "Honestly, Yuuri, I'm okay."

"Why didn't we notice them tailing us?"

"This is their country. They know the land better than we do. They probably circled around ahead and hid behind the tress. They're thick enough."

"Damn it!"

The carriage shook when something crashed against the side of it. A few drops of blood splattered against the window. Wolfram could see very little of anything from his position on the floor, but he could sense death around them.

"We have to do something," he said, looking around as if searching for something to help, but there was nothing. "We can't just stay in here." They were marginally safe from projectiles; however, being enclosed would make capture simple enough if their enemies managed to surround the carriage.

"Don't move," Yuuri ordered. "I'm going to help Conrad."

Wolfram felt his husband's arm slipping away from him, and watched in abject horror as Yuuri struggled to open the door. "Yuuri, no!"

Yuuri was out the door before he could stop him, pausing long enough to gawk at the dead body of one of their soldiers slumped at the foot of the carriage before leaning down to grab the sword from his slack hand.

"Yuuri!" Wolfram called after him again.

Yuuri turned back to him with a determined look on his face. "Stay here," he said, and shut the door.

Wolfram thought his eyes must surely be bulging from his head. He gaped in amazement, gazing stupidly at the polished wood interior and bloodied window. He remained motionless for only a few seconds longer before scrambling to his feet and forcing the door back open, bursting out into the forest.

Already, there were bodies everywhere. The soldier whose sword Yuuri had taken lay at his feet, throat slit open, blood soaking into the front of his uniform and splashed across the side of the carriage. It dripped onto the dirt road, collecting into red puddles beneath Wolfram's feet. He swallowed and stepped away, swiftly looking around in search of his husband.

Their horses had been slaughtered to impede their escape; those that hadn't been killed by the arrows that no longer streaked through the air had run away in panic. The horses that had pulled their carriage lay dead on the ground, their driver lifeless in his seat. He saw Conrart's mount close by, in a giant heap by the tree line. He heard the clash of metal and saw swords flashing in the muted sunlight. Before, he'd seen nothing but gray skies and brown trees; now he saw black armor and red blood.

A soldier stepped in front of him and blocked the swinging arm of a Black Knight. Wolfram hadn't even noticed he was being approached, and observed the conflict in a sort of trance, trying to process the flurry of activity around him. He knew he should back away, try to find Yuuri and drag him to safety, but his feet betrayed him. His blood pumped furiously from his thumping heart; adrenaline coursed through him, making him numb.

"Your Majesty," the soldier said through gritted teeth, keeping the knight at bay. "Run!"

Wolfram couldn't move. His battle instincts wouldn't let him flee, yet he was unable to react without a weapon.

Why had he gotten into the habit of going without a sword, he wondered. His marriage to Yuuri had changed a lot of things, but it shouldn't have changed that.

The soldier was defeated before Wolfram could so much as blink. For an instant, their blades remained locked together. Initially, it seemed as if the soldier had a chance, but he was pushed back and overpowered. Wolfram watched, standing futilely in place, as the enemy knight's blade swept over the soldier's neck. He heard a gurgle and felt blood on his face when the guard fell back toward him, finally managing to step away in enough time to avoid the body as it landed on the cold ground.

Wolfram looked down at himself and saw his black clothes saturated with another man's blood.

The sight triggered something inside of him and sharpened his focus. When the Black Knight advanced on him and reached out to grab him, Wolfram ducked out of the way. He crawled along the ground and scrambled for a sword, grasping the first one he could find. The Black Knight followed him but didn't attack. Wolfram wouldn't give him the opportunity to. A weapon at hand, he lunged from the forest floor to strike from below. He pierced the knight's lower abdomen, heard the sounds that issued from his throat as blood bubbled up, felt the heavy weight of his body as it was momentarily suspended in front of him. Seconds later, Wolfram pulled his weapon out of its temporary organic sheath to stand and left him there to die.

On his feet, Wolfram looked around for his husband, avoiding the advances of enemy soldiers. He pushed them back or stalled them with his borrowed sword, but it didn't take him long to realize that they weren't serious in their assault. They reached for him and he forced them away. Only when he challenged them did they lock weapons with him. Even then, their efforts to subdue him with violence were minimal at best.

He didn't understand the leniency, but he thought it must have something to do with Lyron.

He found Yuuri further ahead, straining to subdue a knight larger and fiercer that he was. Both his father and Yozak were near him, but they were too busy fending others off to grant him the help he needed. Even with Morgif, Yuuri was a mediocre swordsman; without him, he was lucky to be able to defend himself against men as skilled as Lyron's soldiers. Wolfram watched as Yuuri stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat when the knight's sword caught Yuuri's left thigh.

He ran forward, ripping his arm out of the grasp of a man whose face he didn't see, his entire focus resting on Yuuri. His husband fell to his knees, a hand going to his wounded leg to staunch the flow of blood. Wolfram sprinted toward him as fast as he could, and reached Yuuri's position in seconds that felt like an eternity. The knight brought his arm up to strike, but Wolfram's arrival surprised him and he paused. Wolfram took advantage of the man's hesitation, plunging his sword deep into the knight's side.

When his opponent's body drooped and no one else came to take his place, Wolfram turned to kneel in front of Yuuri and check his wound. "You idiot!" he hissed, livid that he would attempt to do something so reckless. "Do you even think before you act?"

"Of course I do," Yuuri replied, wincing when Wolfram prodded at his leg. He pushed his hand away and tried to stand. "I'm okay. It's not that deep," he said. Upright again, he pinned Wolfram with an anxious frown. "I told you to stay in the carriage."

"What, and sit there waiting for someone to capture me?" Wolfram asked, ignoring the impudent quality to his own voice. "I'm not going to let you do something stupid."

"I'm not doing anything stupid!"

"What do you call this?"

"Your Majesty!" his father interrupted before they could continue, battling his way to them.

At any other time, Wolfram would have been annoyed by his father's presence. He almost thought the man incapable of handling a situation like this, and Wolfgang's adroitness surprised him. He'd heard his father had been an expert warrior before, but he'd thought the loss of his dominant arm would impede Wolfgang in battle. Apparently, he'd thought wrong, as his father was proving himself quite capable with nothing more than his left arm. Wolfgang was still an efficient soldier; if they could have used their magic, Wolfram thought his father might have been even more impressive.

"Captain!" Yuuri looked relieved to see him, and Wolfram felt a brief pang of jealousy over the fact that Yuuri shared a better relationship with his father than he did himself.

Wolfgang knocked another man back with the hilt of his sword to the face, and stopped before them. "Your Majesty, we must remove you from the area and find safety."

"I think it's a bit late for that now," Yuuri observed. "Unless you plan on shoving us in the carriage again."

"You should not have left it."

"We were sitting ducks in there."

Wolfram would have snorted if the situation were any different. Yuuri put up a fuss about the vulnerability of their position now, but had seemed inclined on keeping Wolfram there before. How talented his husband had become, molding the circumstances to his advantage so as to assert his will over others. If it didn't infringe upon his own preferences, Wolfram might have been impressed.

"You are in danger here," his father said, sparing a glance toward Wolfram as well, and adding, "the both of you."

"There isn't anywhere else for us to go," Yuuri pointed out.

Another soldier approached them, but Wolfram's father pushed him back easily.

"Yuuri!" a shout had them turning.

Conrart was on his way toward them, though a large group of knights in black obstructed his path. No doubt they'd been ordered to keep him occupied. Conrart was qualified enough to take on a group of them with few problems, but the effort would slow him down and make it impossible for him to protect Yuuri on his own. His brother fought desperately to join them, cutting men down only for more to take their place. Wolfram almost ran to his aid, but Yozak beat him to it, jumping in to join the fray with a flurry of flashing metal.

Even with the extra help, Conrart looked anxious to make his way through as quickly as possible, and Wolfram soon discovered why. He heard the whistle of an arrow, then saw it plunge into the ground a few feet in front of them. Startled, he looked up into the trees, but had no time to stop the next one from falling, or even process the path it would take. The arrow was released from the bow of a resentful knight and flew toward its target: his husband.

Wolfram couldn't even open his mouth to shout his name. One moment the arrow was in motion, shooting through the air with blazing speed and the next it was lodged into Yuuri's left shoulder, cutting through skin and muscle to poke through the other side. Yuuri released a shout of pain and stumbled, dropping his sword and falling back onto his knees.

"Your Majesty!" his father exclaimed at the same time Conrart shouted his name again.

Another voice joined the discord and clamor, this one not as deep, but still sharp and authoritative. "Archers!" he heard Louis call to his men. "Halt!"

Wolfram didn't look up to see if the orders were followed, though he knew he should be concerned for his and his husband's safety. Yuuri writhed on the ground, cursing in pain, while his father knelt to examine the fresh wound. Wolfram was about to join them when his eyes turned and found the source of the demands.

Louis was still at the head of the group. He hadn't moved much since Wolfram had seen him outside the stalled carriage, except to approach them closer. He stood surveying the area, watching his men in battle with the demon tribe soldiers, seeing that his orders – whatever they might be – were followed. His sword was in his hand, but not yet slick with blood, and his armor was pristine and unscathed, while the rest of the men sported dents, rips, and splotches of blood.

What shocked Wolfram was the smirk on Louis' face. He knew the expression because it was one of his own. Louis watched with the confidence of one who knew he had the upper hand. Glancing around, Wolfram thought Louis' assurance was probably warranted. Whether Louis had brought more men or they'd simply managed to exterminate a number of the demon tribe soldiers, Wolfram couldn't tell through all the carnage, but from the looks of it the Black Knights outnumbered them three to one.

And Louis watched it all with pleasure. Wolfram had yet to see so much emotion on the young man's countenance, and the sudden eagerness in the face of violence and death frightened him.

Louis was no ordinary soldier, nor an ordinary man.

Frantic, Wolfram glanced around for his brothers; if they could dispose of Louis, then their enemy's chain of command would be compromised. Conrart remained surrounded, overwhelmed not by his opponents' skill but by their numbers. It took him a little longer to find Gwendal locked in battled on the other side of the abandoned carriage, but when he did he knew his oldest brother was in no position to make the attempt. He was no less occupied than Conrart – battling one knight, then the next, with no end in sight.

Wolfram reacted more on instinct than logic. He spared one last glance to make sure his father was tending to Yuuri before bounding down the road to confront Louis on his own.

"Wolfram!" he heard his father shout after him, as well as Yuuri's ensuing curse of "Shit! Wolfram, stop!" but he ignored them both.

Halfway there, hands grabbed him from behind, forcing him to halt. Wolfram looked back, expecting to see one of his own soldiers, but the delighted face of a Black Knight greeted him with a victorious leer. Frowning, Wolfram struggled against the arms that wrapped tightly around him, crushing his ribs and squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Where do you think you're going?" an unctuous voice breathed into his ear.

Revolted, Wolfram twisted himself around in the man's grasp. "Get your hands off me," he warned.

"Or what?" the knight wondered, looking at him as he would a powerless child.

Wolfram refused to address him a second time. His arms were pinned to his sides so that he couldn't attack with his sword, but he had other options open to him. He gave no other warning and lifted his knee hard between the man's legs, watching his eyes widen into a look of agony. The knight's grip loosened and Wolfram was released, as the knight slumped to the ground and curled in on himself to guard his abused genitals.

It was a crude method, but desperate times often called for more crass measures.

He turned again, making his way toward Louis with renewed vigor. The young duke's smirk faded at the sight of his approach, but other than that he looked unconcerned. If anything, he seemed bored by Wolfram's presence, casually looking him over but expecting nothing from their confrontation.

"Your Majesty," he greeted Wolfram coldly.

Wolfram gripped his sword and fell into a fighting stance. "Raise your sword," he said.

"It would be unwise to challenge me," Louis offered and didn't move.

"I'll kill you," Wolfram told him.

Louis laughed once, but it lacked amusement. "You can try, and you will fail."

"Says the man who has his soldiers fight for him."

Piercing green eyes flashed with something – irritation, perhaps?

"Back away, Your Majesty," Louis demanded icily.

"What, are you afraid?"

Louis sneered briefly before his expression returned to one of disinterest. "After lowering yourself in the service of my king, I should think you would be more concerned by my death at the hands of you or your men than I am."

Wolfram's face flushed with anger and humiliation. "Raise your sword!" he repeated.

"I will say it one last time," Louis cautioned him. "It would be unwise for you to challenge me."

If Louis expected Wolfram to heed his warnings, he was to be disillusioned. Wolfram was not the sort to he ordered around by anyone, least of all the retainer of his human enemy. He met the duke with a glare so dark it would have intimidated some of his previous opponents, and charged at him with an enraged shout, seeing Lyron's power and authority in Louis' passive face.

He didn't see Louis' reaction, it was so swift. His sword was stopped before it could reach its target, blocked by a parrying dagger that had been sheathed by Louis' right hip. Wolfram hadn't even seen him unsheathe it. He looked passed their connected blades and saw the cool certainty in Louis' eyes distort and shift into something else, something dark, macabre and hungry. It sent a chill through him, and when their weapons separated Wolfram took a cautious step back, discretion warring with anger and determination.

Louis' demeanor changed in a flash of steel. Wolfram had never seen such an expression on his face before. In all their previous confrontations, Louis had never looked at him with anything more than apathy. Now his face, young and fair, bore a look of ineffable hate.

It staid him, caused Wolfram to drop his fighting stance and reconsider his abrupt decision. He tried to piece together Louis' reaction with what little he knew about him, but could find no reasonable explanation. There was no need for him to be jealous; Lyron might have his sights set on Wolfram, but Louis seemed highest in his confidence. He had to have Lyron's trust if he were to hold command over the Isidorian secret forces at such a young age, and Wolfram suspected their relationship was deeper than that of King and vassal. Lyron kept Louis in his inner circle not as one would keep a bodyguard, but as one would keep a lover.

Wolfram considered that Louis might feel threatened by Lyron's sudden interest in another man, but pushed the thought aside before it could firmly take root. Louis was not one to react on emotions; he knew that well enough after only three days. He wondered if Louis felt anything for Lyron at all, if he expressed himself more when they were alone, or if he was as distant from his king as he was from the rest of the world. It seemed unlikely that Louis would desire Lyron's affections. He'd never shown any indication of it before, and had stood idly by as Lyron had forced Wolfram to defile himself for the sake of their agreement.

No, Louis was not jealous – of that he was certain. There was a sense of malignant lust in him, a gleam in his eyes that had nothing to do with physical desire or envious anger. If Louis craved anything, it was violence, blood, and death.

Wolfram jumped back when his adversary's sword swung out in a dangerous stroke. The point caught part of his jacket and tore the black fabric, the rapid motion of Louis' attack leaving Wolfram breathless. In the blink of an eye, the parrying dagger streaked for his face, and Wolfram had just enough time to catch it with the cross-guard of his sword-hilt before dodging away from another mighty swing of Louis' sword. There was no opportunity for Wolfram to counter between any of Louis' attacks. If he wasn't worrying about the sword, he was worrying about the dagger – and vice versa – relying on his footwork to keep himself out if his opponent's reach.

Louis' style of fighting was different than his own. Swifter, more agile, Louis fought with harsh thrusts and whirling strokes, and the benefit of an extra blade – small as it may be. Wolfram had never seen someone so quick on their feet. Louis' movements occurred in blurs that he was barely able to avoid, tripping and stumbling as he was continuously forced back.

He now knew why Lyron had seemed to disregard Conrart as the world's greatest swordsman. Conrart might have Louis' skill, but he would never have his speed.

Wolfram's foot caught on the body of a fallen soldier and he fell to the ground, tumbling over it to land painfully on a patch of bloodied earth. He rolled out of the way when Louis came at him, sword _'woosh'_ing by his ear as it missed him by inches. It plunged into the dirt path he had just been sprawled upon, leaving an opening that Wolfram was thankful to take. He lashed out, aiming for Louis' neck, but the dagger was there to stop him.

Louis spun back around. Wolfram's eyes widened when Louis' sword was pulled free and swung at him, crying out and stumbling again when the hilt caught his face. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt it dripping from his nose, his vision momentarily spotted with stars.

"Wolfram!" he heard someone shouting for him, but couldn't be sure who it was. Yuuri? His father? One of his brothers?

Whoever it was, they sounded too far away to be of any help.

He swayed and almost fell, but was conscious of Louis' coming attack. Somehow Wolfram was able to raise his sword to defend himself, the clang of their clashing blades mingling with the ringing in his ears. He struggled to hold Louis at bay, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping his sword locked with his assailant's.

Pain brought him to his senses, an acute burning sensation that cut through the dizzy spell and brought his vision back into focus. The upper portion of his left arm throbbed, the sleeve of his jacket suddenly torn and stained. He winced and stepped back, his breathing labored from stress and exertion.

Louis' dagger glistened red with blood. He paused in his assault to look at it, and Wolfram knew he should use the chance to take the offense, but Louis' reaction left him frozen. The young duke gazed at his dagger fervently, the light green of his eyes growing dark with inhuman depravity. He brought the smaller blade to eye level and watched a drop of red dangle precariously from the tip before breaking loose and dripping to the ground, his expression alight with barbaric glee.

To Wolfram's utter disgust, Louis brought it to his mouth and licked it.

It would have been disturbing under any circumstance, but the way Louis' eyes glimmered in his lust for blood caused Wolfram to feel an extra boost of revulsion. He took another step back and thought of running for it, wondering if Louis' speed would emerge in the chase as well. He knew he wouldn't get far if that was the case, no closer to his brothers or the father he wouldn't hesitate to turn to now in his time of need.

Louis pinned him with a penetrative stare before Wolfram could move, his mouth lifting into another smirk that spoke of bestial delight. It was as if something had switched on within him, some feral impulse he kept rigorously suppressed when not in the heat of battle. He chuckled darkly, his eyes widening menacingly, before he shot forward to begin the onslaught anew.

"Wolfram!" he heard again, filled with panic and desperation and soul-consuming fear.

Wolfram couldn't be bothered to see who was shouting for him. All of his concentration was on Louis, dodging left, then right, blocking the swing of his sword before ducking out of the way of his dagger. He could hardly keep up, and knew if he were to look away for even a moment he'd leave Louis a wide opening that wouldn't be missed. More than once he was almost struck by one of the two blades, his arms trembling with the effort to contend with Louis, to block, parry, and counter and not leave himself vulnerable to another attack.

His breathing grew heavy, his lungs aching from the strain. Sweat broke out along his forehead and his hair began to loosen from the pins that kept it off his shoulders. He was quickly growing tired, unable to compensate for Louis' extra speed. His heart pounded a frightened beat; adrenaline surged through his system and eased the pain in his arm, but it did little else to aid him. Even if he'd had the use of his magic, he doubted he would have been a match for Louis, not when the duke was so quick and nimble.

It galled him to admit it, but Louis was far better than he was. Frustration welled within him. He shouldn't have challenged him, though it would have been worse for his pride if he'd backed down when Louis had told him to. Now he would be lucky to end this confrontation without receiving any more injuries. There was no way for him to beat Louis on his own, at least not that he could see, and he wasn't even sure killing him was such a good idea anymore. Louis had been right; if they killed him, they would have to face Lyron's wrath, and after all that Wolfram had sacrificed for peace, he couldn't allow that agreement to be compromised.

He grew sloppy in his fatigue, relying on instinct to guide him through the motions while his body began to falter from the stress. Wolfram feinted to the right in the hopes of tricking Louis into following, but he was outsmarted. He grimaced when Louis' sword ripped another tear in his jacket, though he could only be grateful that it didn't come close enough to hit skin.

Louis' eyes sparkled with hate and enjoyment, as if he took gratification from seeing Wolfram proven the lesser swordsman. There wasn't a doubt in Wolfram's mind that Louis intended to kill him. Whether he'd been ordered to or not – and he could only assume that he hadn't – the fulfillment of battle seemed to have overtaken Louis' mind, so that his only objective was to destroy his opponent, stick his sword through him and watch the light dim from his eyes.

Wolfram blocked another thrust from the sword, but locked together as they were he had nothing with which to block the dagger. He gasped and tried to evade it but failed. His mind went blank in shock as the dagger plunged into his side, ripping through skin and settling deep beneath his ribs.

"_Wolfram_!"

He recognized Yuuri's voice now, shouting at him from a distance that could have been a hundred miles, he sounded so far away.

Dazed, Wolfram looked at the dagger stuck into him. His hearing muted and his vision blurred. For a moment he couldn't even feel any pain. He could see blood seeping through his clothes, staining the right side of his jacket, warm and wet against the cold metal that punctured his skin.

His senses fluctuated when the dagger was pulled from his body, his focus fading in and out. His head felt heavy when he lifted it to look at Louis, whose eyes had widened as his bloodlust ebbed to be replaced by realization. Neither of them moved, staring at one another with mutual expressions of shock and alarm.

Wolfram dropped his sword as blood bubbled up his throat. He coughed it up and staggered back, one hand moving to press against his wound.

His father streaked passed him, sword drawn and aimed at Louis. The duke deflected the blow, but his instincts had been thrown off, and Wolfgang forced him back with an aggressiveness Wolfram had never seen in him before. He might have been surprised if his mind was in working order, but he could only watch, muddled and confused by the speed with which everything was happening.

Arms caught him from behind. Wolfram turned to see Yuuri, teeth clenched and eyes blazing, body haloed by brilliant blue energy. He was warm and solid and Wolfram leaned against him, dizzy from the pain beginning to burn in his abdomen.

"Wait," he said tiredly, his senses slowly returning. "Yuuri, no."

He could feel his husband slipping, could feel his latent power surging to the surface, threatening to break free and destroy them all. He clutched at Yuuri, trying to get his attention, trying to pull him away from the darkness, to stop him before he could give in to the urge to kill. His blood ran cold when Yuuri's pupils shifted into narrow slits. He once thought them almost cat-like in appearance, but accompanied by a menacing glare they looked more serpentine, demonic and outright evil.

"No, Yuuri, don't!" he croaked, but it was too late.

With an outraged cry, Yuuri's power erupted in an explosion of blue light. Wolfram felt it surround them both before spreading out to consume the whole area. The ground shook, and trees on either side of them burst into a million pieces, shrapnel and splinters of wood flying in all directions. Louis and Wolfgang were knocked to the ground from the strength of the blast, and over the howling wind and thundering sky Wolfram could hear others around them shouting in dismay.

"Don't, Yuuri!" Wolfram called uselessly, enclosed in heat and light. "Yuuri, please!"

If his husband heard him, it didn't make any difference. His protestations fell on deaf ears.

"Your Majesty!" the voices of his brothers came from somewhere behind them. He could hear their footsteps drawing closer, rushing to their aid.

Yuuri released him before he was prepared for it, shoving him back in a motion rougher than he was used to. Wolfram thought he'd been left to crumple to the ground, but another set of arms caught him and held him close. He glimpsed dark hair in his peripheral vision. Turning just slightly, Wolfram saw Gwendal's anxious face and slumped against his chest. His oldest brother gripped him tightly, shielding him from debris.

Conrart came to a halt beside them, Yozak trailing close behind. Both of them looked a little worse for wear. The rest of their soldiers remained behind with the Black Knights, each of them scrabbling for purchase in the face of Yuuri's madness.

"Yuuri!" Conrart tried, but he had no success.

Frowning and suppressing a curse, Conrart rushed forward. Wolfram thought he intended to halt Yuuri by more physical means, but that was not to be. Conrart paused before he reached him, his attention diverted to Wolfram's father. Wolfgang was sprawled on the ground, struggling to push himself upright with his one arm. Conrart kneeled to help him, and Wolfram gasped when he saw his father's face. It was dirtied from his fall and scratched by flying wood, and blood and vitreous fluid leaked from his left eye.

Yuuri seemed not to notice any of them. He stalked forward, his dark, malicious gaze focused on Louis, who rolled over to see him approaching, lifeless green eyes wide in the face of Yuuri's anger. Yuuri pulled him from the ground and forced him up, snapping one wrist back to make Louis drop his sword and grabbing the parrying dagger from the other. Louis struggled, attacking with his empty fists, but Yuuri let him go and pushed him back with a kick to his gut.

Louis fell again, landing on his back in the dirt path. He attempted to roll away, but Yuuri's foot met his shoulder and forced him back down. With deliberate, predatory movements, Yuuri lowered himself to his knees over top of him, straddling Louis and bringing the dagger to his neck.

"You dare to harm what is mine!" he seethed. Wolfram could just barely hear him, but it wasn't difficult to pick up the bitter, poisonous quality to Yuuri's voice.

Louis shied away from the blade, looking up at Yuuri with loathing. "Release me, you monster!"

"Monster?" Yuuri cackled viciously. "You dub me a monster? You, who enjoys slaughter?" He pressed the blade more firmly against Louis' throat. "_You_ are the monster, Duke of Isidore. You and the abomination you call King."

"His Majesty is a greater king than you!"

"I should like to see him face me now!" Yuuri shouted, half livid and half amused. His entire being exuded power and authority. "You believe him to be a match for me? You believe he would be the victor? Let him come! I shall demonstrate for your king what befalls those who oppose me!"

Louis chuckled, cold and emotionless. A thin trickle of blood oozed from his neck when the movement led his skin to be pricked by the dagger. "He has already won, Demon King. He has taken something from you, but you're too much of a fool to see it!"

Wolfram felt sick, frightened that Louis was about to reveal his treasonous act. "Stop! Yuuri, let him go!"

He struggled against Gwendal, desperate to reach his husband and pull him away, shield his sins a little longer, but his brother wouldn't release him.

Yuuri reared his arm back to hold the dagger above the man lying prone beneath him. He jerked it down quickly, vengeful and murderous against Louis' defiance. Instead of plunging it into the defenseless duke's body, he stuck it into the dirt beside his head, releasing the hilt to wrap both of his hands around Louis' neck.

"A swift death would be too merciful for you," he said, squeezing relentlessly.

Louis choked, mouth opening to speak, but no sound came out. His hands grabbed at Yuuri's wrists and arms, clawing at him in an attempt to break his hold.

Yuuri smirked and laughed darkly. "Are you afraid of death?"

Louis glared. He swiped at Yuuri's face but missed, his movements growing sluggish as his lungs were deprived of air.

"It will be over momentarily. Then I shall send your head as a gift to your king."

"No," Wolfram said weakly. His sight had dimmed, his body growing slack, but he forced himself to remain conscious. He sagged in Gwendal's arms and could almost see his efforts, his sin and his sacrifice, crashing down around him. If Louis died here, Lyron would never forgive them. "Conrart, stop him! He'll ruin everything!"

Conrart wasted no time questioning him. He left Wolfgang to Yozak and rushed to Yuuri's side, grabbing him by the shoulders and attempting to pull him off.

"Yuuri!" he shouted, his voice almost drowned out by a violent clap of thunder. "Think about what you're doing!"

Yuuri made to shrug him off. "I am removing this nuisance from my sight!"

"You're going to kill him!"

"He deserves nothing less!"

Conrart's grip never loosened. "You're not considering the consequences!" he said. "Think of Wolfram!"

"I have thought of nothing else!"

"Then look at him!"

Hands still around Louis' neck, Yuuri glanced over his shoulder and met Wolfram's eye. Wolfram fought against unconsciousness, keeping his gaze locked with Yuuri's even as his vision began go to fuzzy and black around the edges. He begged him silently at first, unsure if he could raise his voice loud enough to be heard over the violent storm that raged around them. When Yuuri's intentions did not ease, Wolfram brandished the full force of his desperation, his expression agonized and hopeless.

"Yuuri, please," he beseeched him quietly. "Let him go. Don't do this."

If the circumstances had been different, Wolfram wondered if he would have asked Yuuri to stop. If the one who'd stabbed him and incurred Yuuri's wrath hadn't been Louis, hadn't been someone so important to Lyron, would he have asked him to reconsider? Certainly Yuuri would be upset when he regained himself, devastated that he'd threatened the life of another man. Surely he had enough innocence, enough enthusiasm for peace left to hold to his former principles.

It wasn't Yuuri looking at him now. It was the Demon King, and the Demon King's narrowed eyes glittered with a cruel passion. Wolfram was afraid that his request would be ignored, but soon the hands around Louis' neck began to go slack. Yuuri sneered angrily, watching Wolfram for a few moments longer before he released his prey, shoving Louis against the ground in his frustration. He pushed Conrart away from him as he rose to his feet, glaring down at Louis from his place high above him.

"It seems my spouse has recently acquired a streak of benevolence," he said. "Consider yourself fortunate."

Wolfram sighed in relief, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. Gwendal continued to hold him steady, placing a hand against his wound to apply pressure and begin stemming the flow of blood.

Louis coughed as air flooded back into him. He dragged himself along the ground, inching away from Yuuri and grabbing at his own throat, panting for breath. Sliding out from between Yuuri's legs, he stumbled to his feet, swaying a bit as he straightened. He faced Yuuri with a hard glare, his teeth bared in a snarl.

"You will not live long, Demon King," he threatened, his voice rough in his abused throat. "Soon you will meet your end at the hands of my lord."

"Lyron cannot touch me," Yuuri confidently replied. "Should he try, I shall squash him as easily as I did you."

Indignation twisted Louis' face. He seemed ready to attack again, but settled with spitting into Yuuri's face instead.

Yuuri stood motionless as saliva dripped down his cheek, then lifted his hand to wipe it away before it could linger too long by his jaw. He stared at it and laughed again, as if Louis' reaction amused him. He adopted a leer Wolfram would expect to see being worn by Lyron. A second later, Yuuri's hand flung out and struck Louis on the side of the face, knocking him back a few steps and returning his spittle to him.

"Do not make me reconsider my decision to heed my spouse's request," he warned. "I will not be swayed a second time."

Red blossomed along Louis' flesh, a precursor to the bruising that would soon mar his comely face.

"Leave now," Yuuri demanded. He bent down to retrieve Louis' discarded dagger. "Leave or I will not hesitate to put this through your heart."

Louis looked from Yuuri to the dagger and seemed to weigh his chances. His mouth twitched into a disgusted frown, his sharp eyes threatening revenge. "Fall back!" he shouted to his men. "Fall back and return to the castle!"

Wolfram could have wept in relief. The Black Knights appeared hesitant to comply, but when Louis began to withdraw they followed his command. The archers climbed out of the trees and bled back into the forest, joined by knights supporting their injured comrades. They left their dead where they'd fallen, scattered along the ground among the bodies of demon soldiers.

Louis' form grew smaller as he drew further and further away. Wolfram watched him, keeping a stubborn grasp on consciousness to make sure they would have nothing to fear during the completion of their journey to the dock. Louis stopped some distance away to look back at them, glaring so darkly Wolfram could feel it in his soul. Then Louis departed, a black figure in the distance, disappearing around a bend in the road.

Wolfram was glad to see him leave, but he was confident that this was not the last they'd see of Louis Adla.

The world around them began to settle as the Black Knights retreated and danger passed. The wind grew less intense, no longer shrieking through the trees, some of which were now nothing more than mounds of shredded bark on the ground. Yuuri's light condensed, fading but still enveloping his body, while a storm rumbled and crackled above. Dark clouds blocked the light of the sun and began spitting rain down into their midst, mingling with the dirt and blood.

Wolfram hardly felt the cold drizzle pelting against his skin and dampening his hair. His thoughts grew hazy as his body began to grow unsteady. He was thankful for the strong pair of arms that cradled him, resting his head against Gwendal's chest and listening to the rapid pounding of his heart. He let himself breathe, but he smelled nothing more than death and a cold, spring rain.

His gaze returned to his husband. Yuuri looked at him with the Demon King's eyes, hard and critical in a dour face. Wolfram wanted to reach out for him but couldn't lift his arms.

"Yuuri…" he said. He was growing fainter, more fatigued, and Yuuri's image was slipping further away.

When his husband moved to approach him, his stride slow and confident, Wolfram smiled encouragingly. But before Yuuri could reach him, Wolfram lost his struggle against unconsciousness and fell into the darkness. The last thing he saw was the Demon King's keen, wicked eyes.

* * *

Laughter.

Gwendal had never heard anything like it before. It was lurid and uncontrolled – insane.

The boat rocked upon a raging ocean, waves slapping violently against the hull while rain streaked the portholes and flooded the deck. Their sailing conditions were far from ideal, but remaining in Isidore longer than necessary was out of the question. They'd left their dead there in the road, lacking the sufficient means of transporting the inert bodies as they staggered to the dock, limping as they suffered beneath the weight of their wounded. Their only preoccupation had been to leave as quickly as possible, and put Isidore far behind them. Only when they were on the open sea, out of the reach of Lyron's Black Knights, could they consider themselves safe.

The crew surgeon was at his wit's end seeing to the injured. Gwendal did not envy him his work load. Wolfgang's vessel contained only a modest set of medical supplies, and the surgeon was quickly working his way through them, splinting arms and legs, staunching and wrapping head wounds, and seeing to the captain's ruptured eye. With Wolfgang out of commission and the scent of blood and death following them on deck, the crew was left uneasy under the competent but anxious command of Commander Franz Algren.

Gwendal had denied the surgeon's initial design to begin his treatment with Wolfram. Many of their soldiers needed medical care, and Gwendal was not too enthusiastic about entrusting his youngest brother to a man already haggard and flustered by the number and severity of injuries. He had carried Wolfram below deck himself, closely followed by Conrart and the king.

He had Wolfram on the bed, stripped of his bloodied and dirtied clothes. Wolfram was white from blood loss, delirious from pain and the drink Gwendal had given him to numb it. There were minimal amounts of narcotics on board, so Gwendal had been forced to ply Wolfram with strong wine. It was unpleasant business, helping his brother become drunk to the pain of his wounds and the measures they must use to manage them, but they had few other options left open to them. Better to have Wolfram's senses dulled than for him to be conscious and aware.

The bruising on Wolfram's face would have to heal on its own. Gwendal felt his cheek and jaw to check for damage that might be more serious, but the bones seemed intact and his tongue had been saved from the crushing bite of his teeth. The blood had already stopped flowing from the cut on his arm, which could be mended and bandaged later, after Gwendal had seen to his greatest concern. The stab wound in Wolfram's side was fresher and leaked onto the bedclothes, draining Wolfram of color and energy, and leaving him motionless.

It was deep. Gwendal feared the dagger might have damaged Wolfram's internal organs, but the surgeon had been unable to give him a definite answer during his brief examination on deck. It was more difficult to sense such things when their magic was suppressed in human lands. Gwendal had no healing magic to begin with and wouldn't have been able to make the right diagnosis even if they'd been in their own country, but he had steady hands. He could clean the wound and sew it closed, and hope that would be enough for Wolfram to survive the voyage home.

Wolfram moaned in discomfort when Gwendal prodded the open flesh, blond head lolling along the mattress, but he did not wake. Gwendal frowned, apprehensive. He had a basin of warm water on the side table, which rippled and sloshed with the rocking of the boat. Taking a spare rag, he dipped it in and rung it out, then dabbed at the blood and cleaned.

The laughter came from behind him, in the corner of the stateroom. It had begun the moment the door had closed, and continued wildly, an unrestrained, foreign cackling that set Gwendal's nerves on edge.

"I was going to kill him!" Yuuri exclaimed. His voice was equal parts anguish and exhilaration. "I would have if Wolfram hadn't stopped me, and I wouldn't have cared!"

"Yuuri," Gwendal heard Conrart begin, far more soothing than Gwendal could have been himself. "It's alright. Sit down and let me look at your wounds."

"Justice would have been fulfilled in his death," Yuuri's voice momentarily lowered and adopted a loftier quality.

"Your Majesty," Conrart tried again, "at least allow me to attend to the arrow."

"I don't want to kill anybody!"

"Yuuri…"

"Louis Adla does not deserve our mercy."

The lines on Gwendal's forehead deepened, but he did not turn to witness the peculiar spectacle. If Yuuri had been unbalanced before, it was nothing compared to his current state. Unable to constrain his thoughts or govern his erratic emotions, Yuuri's consciousness was in a continuous state of fluctuation, alternating from one to the other in an internal battle that was now becoming an outward struggle. He wept, he rejected, he quarreled with himself, switching from distressed and revolted to steadfast and righteous in a matter of seconds.

And shared by both was the laughter, loud and rampant and quickly losing any shred of sanity.

"I don't want to do this," Yuuri said, his voice trembling. "I can't do this anymore. I can't handle it." He paused to chuckle, his pattern of speech reverting to that of his regal counterpart. "Sleep then, and allow me to complete what you began. _No_!" he shouted, himself again. "No, no, no! I don't need you anymore! I don't want you! This is _your_ fault! I didn't want you to kill him!"

"Yuuri, please," Conrart was beginning to sound harried. "I'm trying to help you."

"I only do what you wish of me," the Demon King ignored Conrart and responded to his weaker half. "We have discussed this once before. I have never forced you. _You_ control me, when I am released, the manner in which I deal my justice. It is all because of you." This time the laughter was interrupted by a howl of rage. "_It isn't_! It isn't me!"

"Yuuri…"

"I _am_ you. _You're not_! You're not!"

Gwendal tried to ignore the discord, but it was growing increasingly difficult. Conrart was obviously incapable of handling such a situation, though Gwendal didn't think he could have helped in any way himself. If Yuuri was going to lose his mind, what were they to do to stop it? Neither of them understood the entity within him. Neither of them knew how to help him control it. This was one struggle Yuuri would have to conclude on his own.

He set the rag aside once he'd cleaned Wolfram's wound to the best of his abilities, and took a second to glance over his shoulder, taking in the scene behind him. Yuuri occupied one corner of the room, leaning into the crease the two walls formed where they joined, his head in his hands and his eyes squeezed shut. His face was wet with tears, and lined with frustration and agony. Conrart stood in front of him, hands poised to help, but he was powerless to disrupt Yuuri's mental disintegration.

"I will do what is necessary to bring justice to those who flaunt it. Louis Adla has undermined our authority and wronged our spouse. He must be exterminated."

Gwendal turned back to Wolfram, seeing with his own eyes just how Louis had wronged him. If his dagger had plunged deeper it would have struck the stomach, and Wolfram would have died from the release of acid into his system. If Louis had aimed the blade higher, chances were he could have hit his heart or punctured a lung. What would the Demon King have done then, he wondered, if Louis had succeeded in ending his younger brother's life?

Wolfram was lucky to have come out of the battle no worse off than he already was. Gwendal knew that. He'd seen the fray, watched as Wolfram was pushed back and beaten, all the while attempting to rid himself of the knights that prevented him from rushing to his brother's aid. He was sure none of them had expected Louis to fight so skillfully; his enemies' underestimation of him obviously worked to Louis' advantage. Wolfram could have been killed, quickly and easily, without any of them having the opportunity to stop it. He supposed he should commend his brother for being able to defend himself for so long.

"No, no!" Yuuri wailed. "I won't kill him! I can't! _We must_!" he converted again. "Wolfram lies on the brink of death!"

A needle and thread sat next to the washbasin. Gwendal took both and carefully made his preparations, then set about stitching Wolfram's wound closed. His fiber-arts of choice were knitting and crocheting, but Gwendal was decent with a needle and thread – better than Conrart, at least. Of course, stitching fabric was different than stitching flesh. He almost quailed as he made the first prick into Wolfram's skin and pulled the thread through, but it had to be done, and Gwendal trusted no one other than himself to do it properly.

"Wolfram! Is Wolfram okay?" Yuuri sounded desperate, still unbalanced by fear and his ambiguous hold on consciousness.

"Gwendal's treating him now," Conrart said. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he should be fine once we return home. Gisela can look after him there. We'll have her recalled from the front."

"I want to see him! Please, I need him!"

Gwendal was not eager to have the king get in his way, but he couldn't deny the request if doing so would only serve to heighten Yuuri's already wildly out of control behavior. He said nothing when Conrart brought a chair to the side of the bed, and kept his focus on Wolfram when Yuuri slumped into it.

"This is my fault," Yuuri moaned desolately. "He was trying to protect me and I let him get hurt."

Gwendal waited for the Demon King's voice to make a reply, but when there was no response, Gwendal made one instead. "Wolfram challenged Lord Adla on his own. It ended up being the wrong choice, but he fought bravely regardless. You belittle his sacrifice by taking credit for it."

"He wouldn't have felt like he had to if I hadn't run off to fight."

"Wolfram has always been reckless. Unfortunately, that is a trait the both of you share. Whether or not you had left the carriage, Wolfram would not have stayed there. Somehow he and Lord Adla would have crossed blades today."

"He can't die, Gwendal."

"We will not let him."

That Wolfram wasn't dead already was a good sign – good enough that Gwendal was confident that he would recover as long as they were able to transport him to a place where he could receive the necessary healing. Regardless, he refused to sit by and watch his youngest brother die. Wolfram was too young, and much too important, for his life to end so quickly.

Moreover, Gwendal would feel responsible. Although he told Yuuri not to shoulder all the blame, Gwendal knew that some of it was rightly his own. He had been pressuring Wolfram too much, he'd expected too many things from him, and Wolfram had reacted rashly in an attempt to prove himself.

If he had been more understanding, if he'd had more compassion for the brother who sought his approval and pride, Wolfram might not be lying there now.

"I can't lose him," Yuuri said, languishing in his grief. Out of the corner of his eye, Gwendal saw Yuuri take hold of Wolfram's hand, which dangled limply over the edge of the bed.

Frowning, Gwendal continued his careful stitching.

"Yuuri," Conrart began again now that Yuuri was as settled as they could hope for. "We need to treat your wounds. Will you let me take the arrow out now?"

Yuuri nodded, clutching tighter to Wolfram's hand.

Conrart sighed in contrition. "Let go of Wolfram's hand for just a moment. We have to remove your shirt and jacket."

Gwendal did not look but heard the ripping a fabric, and assumed Conrart had torn part of Yuuri's jacket and shirt away from the wound before removing what remained. There was a splash of water as Conrart dampened another rag, cleaning around the arrow before he would try to extract it.

"It's good that it's gone through like this," Conrart commented lightly. "I'm going to break the arrow, then withdraw it. It's probably going to hurt."

Yuuri didn't respond. Gwendal assumed he still had all of his attention on Wolfram. He'd grabbed his hand again as soon as he was able, and stroked the pale skin with the tips of his fingers.

The arrow snapped when Conrart took it in hand to break it. Yuuri winced but made no sound, though Gwendal saw him recoil in his seat. When the arrow was pulled from his shoulder, Yuuri shuddered and groaned, but he demonstrated a fair amount of restraint that Gwendal had not expected from him.

Conrart retrieved his discarded rag and cleaned the now unobstructed wounds. Yuuri hissed once or twice but was mostly silent, sitting patiently as Conrart returned the rag to the basin and began to bandage both sides of his shoulder.

Gwendal remained focused on Wolfram, sewing in such a way that he hoped would leave only minimal scarring as the flesh fused back together. Wolfram moaned every so often, though Gwendal couldn't tell if it was in pain or because of the wine – or a combination of both. Tying the thread off once he was through, Gwendal cut it and examined his work, pleased with the neat stitches. He worked on Wolfram's arm next, handling him as gently as possible, lest he regain consciousness in torment.

"His Majesty's leg is going to need to be sewn," Conrart told him.

Gwendal nodded but didn't rush, treating Wolfram's arm with the same sort of care as he had the injury in his side. "Bandage him," he said when he was through. Conrart might have no talent with a needle and thread, but he could at least wrap gauze.

They changed places, Gwendal backing away from the edge of the bed so that Conrart could have his turn with their younger brother. Turning to Yuuri, Gwendal rethreaded his needle, then appraised the king with a wary eye. Yuuri's gaze had grown hard, his narrow eyes focused on the figure on the bed. He frowned soberly and sat in his chair with a stiff, regal posture he normally refused to demonstrate. The royal energy that often signaled a switch to Yuuri's more powerful self might not be visible, but Gwendal had no doubt that Yuuri had undergone another metamorphosis.

"Your pants must be discarded, Your Majesty," Gwendal said.

Yuuri looked at him as the Demon King and gave a hollow nod. He released Wolfram's hand to stand to his feet, unfastening his pants and sliding them down his legs. The motion was not as fluid as it might have been otherwise, as part of the fabric stuck to his leg due to dried blood, forcing him to pause in order to peel it away. Once the pants had descended to his ankles, Yuuri casually kicked them to the side.

Gwendal sighed when he saw what Yuuri wore beneath them – shorts normally worn by commoners, but popular on Earth.

"And your undergarments," he added, slightly exasperated.

A snort and a shrug answered him. The undergarments, torn and bloody on the left side, quickly went the way of the pants.

"If it is easier for you, I shall remain standing," Yuuri said in his stately voice.

Gwendal frowned in irritation, but nodded all the same. Kneeling before anyone, even his king, wasn't something he did often; kneeling before a naked man wasn't something he did at all. Annoyed and slightly disconcerted, Gwendal lowered himself to the floor, taking a rag with him so that he may clean this wound as well. Luckily it was on the side of his thigh and hadn't cut the major vein; otherwise he doubted Yuuri would have made it back to the ship.

The knowledge that these were Yuuri's first battle scars was not lost to him. Yuuri had returned from his exploits with the medical unit at the front with minor head trauma and a broken wrist, but nothing that had left marks on his skin. These injuries would certainly leave a trace, reminders of the action he had seen and the struggles he had won and lost.

Their virtuous, idealistic king was innocent no longer.

He ignored Yuuri's nudity the same as he'd ignored Wolfram's, though he was uncomfortable by the fact that Wolfram and Yuuri were both bare and in relatively close proximity to one another. It would be foolish of him to pretend that they didn't have sex; Yuuri had made it a point to reveal the status of their relationship to his advisers once he'd returned from Earth, and the guards he stationed at Yuuri's bedroom door would occasionally chuckle over the royal pair's recent enthusiasm for physical intimacy. Likewise, it would be impudent of him to prevent them from enjoying their conjugal rights. They were married, and it was their business what they did behind closed doors.

That didn't mean he had to like it. He silenced the guards who spoke of it and looked away from any proof that Wolfram and Yuuri were sexually active. It disturbed him to think of his king and his brother in bed together. They might be adults, but when he looked at Wolfram he saw the boy whose toys he'd knitted, who'd sat with him in the gardens and babbled about his lessons, whose first steps had been toward he and Conrart. Comparatively, when he looked at Yuuri he saw the goofy smiles of a teenager and the gift of a dolphin keychain, the wildly flailing arms of an overexcited youth, and the kindness and forgiveness of one who held no grudges toward his brother's betrayal.

He'd seen them both as children, and as much as he liked to think of them as adults, the images of wide smiles and the remnants of a sweet baby voice wouldn't fade.

What business did babies have in adult matters?

He finished quickly enough, sewing Yuuri's thigh as carefully and methodically as he'd treated his brother. Yuuri stood still and silent all the while. He barely moved. At any moment, Gwendal expected him to revert back to his normal self, perhaps to fret over Wolfram more, perhaps to wince and hiss in pain from the needle, but the transition did not come. When he stood to his feet again, Yuuri looked at him with the same dark gaze he'd seen before.

The Demon King smirked lightly, amused by something Gwendal was unsure of. He waited patiently while Conrart returned to him and kneeled to wrap his thigh, his expression changing to one that was a bit more serious as his eyes went back to Wolfram. Once Conrart had finished bandaging, Yuuri turned to stand at the bedside, watching Wolfram with interest. Gwendal thought he appeared both curious and confused.

"He should recover soon," Conrart said. If he was disturbed by the intensity of the Demon King's gaze toward their brother, he didn't show it.

A shallow nod answered him. "I find him fascinating," Yuuri said, "and quite lovely."

Gwendal couldn't be forced to agree. Sickeningly pale and almost bloodless was not what he considered lovely. Wolfram was much more beautiful with his eyes open and his skin glowing, alive and healthy.

Yuuri stared for a little longer before moving. Gingerly but assuredly he climbed onto the mattress, supporting himself above Wolfram on his hands and knees. He studied Wolfram from the closer vantage point, one hand shifting to touch his neck, gliding down over his skin and coming to gently rest upon the wound in his side. Green light glowed from his palm as Yuuri leaned down to press their lips together.

Gwendal felt his eye twitch, his hands curling into fists, and though he would have liked to he didn't look away. It wasn't so much that he was protective of Wolfram as it was the fact that such public displays were entirely inappropriate – or so he kept telling himself. Seeing them both naked, the king on top with such a dominating presence, made Gwendal uneasy. It didn't help matters that Wolfram was currently weak and unconscious.

"Your Majesty," Conrart was brave enough to interrupt. "You really shouldn't put so much pressure on your arm and leg."

Yuuri broke away from Wolfram's mouth but kept his hand on his side. He spared a glance toward Gwendal and Conrart, looking at them as if he were exasperated that they would dare to thwart him. Even so, he heeded Conrart's warning, climbing off of Wolfram to settle beside him.

The change in position was slightly ameliorating to Gwendal, but only just.

"Lyron will be held accountable," Yuuri said.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Conrart agreed.

"All the wrong he has done me, I will return to him a hundred fold."

Gwendal wondered how he expected to do that now that they were leaving Isidore and wouldn't be returning, but he didn't question it.

"Lyron will see firsthand what befalls those who threaten and mock us."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I will not rest until justice has been imposed."

"Yes, of course."

Even as he spoke, Yuuri's eyes grew heavy with fatigue. The magnitude of his recent transformation and the strain he exerted in shifting from one to the other so quickly over such a short period of time was finally beginning to catch up with him. His voice remained strong and stoic as he spoke, but it grew increasingly softer, quiet ranting in the place of his earlier outbursts. He relaxed against the mattress, his body finally released from the stress that bound it, as his eyes closed and the light from his hand faded.

Conrart hastened to cover them, retrieving a blanket from the end of the bed and unfolding it to drape it over their naked bodies. Then, he and Gwendal stood together, watching their king and baby brother with their faces eased in slumber.

Slowly, the storm outside began to subside. Rain continued to fall from the dark clouds above, but it was not as torrential, and the thunder rolled only a few more times before silencing.

"We will draw up a declaration of war as soon as we return to the castle," Gwendal decided. "Perhaps it was wrong of us to assume we could make peace with Isidore."

"You never believed we could," Conrart observed.

Gwendal grunted. He couldn't deny it. He had thought the trip would be a waste of time. Unfortunately, he had been proven correct, and he was not pleased by it. They'd had a chance to acquire a treaty, but they'd been played as fools. Lyron had no intention of treating them fairly or, it would seem, of letting them go.

"A declaration of war might not be wise," Conrart told him, his voice carefully guarded.

"We have no choice."

Conrart frowned. His posture had grown tense as his eyes fastened on Wolfram. Gwendal watched him suspiciously, sensing that there was something Conrart hadn't yet told him.

"Despite challenging Lord Adla himself, Wolfram seemed to think it crucial that he be left alive," Gwendal tried, remembering the desperation in Wolfram's voice as he'd begged Yuuri to release the duke. "What reason does he have to believe so?"

"Louis Adla is one of Lyron's close advisers," Conrart replied evasively.

"As was Ilyich."

"Louis would be different."

"Why?"

Conrart failed to respond, his frown growing deeper.

"What are you not telling me, Conrart?"

His brother grew silent, swallowing down his initial response as his eyes switched from Wolfram to Yuuri. He looked between them, carefully adjusting the blanket so that they were both completely covered. Satisfied, he turned to Gwendal, appearing conflicted.

"What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this room."

Gwendal glowered in annoyance. "That depends on what you tell me."

Conrart sighed heavily. "Wolfram trusted me not to speak of this."

Intrigued but wary, Gwendal felt his expression grow harder. "What has he done?"

He had considered that Wolfram may have taken matters into his own hands during his brief excursion with Lyron that morning, but considering how quickly they'd left the castle after that, he hadn't had the time to ask. Wolfram had definitely been behaving oddly since then – staring off into space, avoiding conversation, and responding to Yuuri with an emotional distance Gwendal hadn't seen in recent months. It had triggered his concern, as had Conrart's evasiveness.

Conrart seemed conflicted, debating the consequences of his openness should he decide to reveal what he knew. He glanced at Yuuri again as if to make sure he was truly sleeping, and when he was convinced that their conversation was not being overheard, he turned to Gwendal dismally.

"Wolfram and Lyron signed a treaty this morning," he said. "Lyron agreed to remove his men from the Great Demon Kingdom and rescinded his request for us to join him against Cimaron."

"And what did Wolfram forfeit in return?" Gwendal asked.

Conrart paused, his entire demeanor wracked with revulsion and disappointment. "Sexual favors," he said.

Gwendal's skin crawled at the response. "He did _what_?"

He looked at his little brother lying on the bed, feeble and vulnerable to aggressive advances. He didn't think it was possible for Wolfram to do such things. Surely Wolfram had enough self-respect to realize that performing sexually in exchange for a peace treaty was deplorable and unethical. Surely he had enough honor in himself and his marriage not to agree to something so demeaning. He was the spouse of a king, not a common street whore; there were standards he had to abide by, none of which included sleeping with the enemy.

Unless, of course, Lyron had forced him. Somehow Gwendal wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, but the manner in which Conrart had spoken made it seem as if Wolfram had consented to the violation.

"He fornicated with Lyron and then had the decency to look his king in the eye?"

"It wasn't full intercourse. Lyron requested that he use his mouth."

"You think that's any different?"

"Keep your voice down," Conrart shushed him, sparing another look at Yuuri and Wolfram to make sure neither of them had woken. "He did it because he thought it would save Yuuri the stress. Even you have to admit he hasn't been in his right mind."

That was an understatement, but Gwendal wasn't in the mood to debate semantics with him.

"He knows it wasn't honorable, Gwendal. If a more decent method had been presented to him, he would have taken it instead. He knows it was wrong."

"It's treason."

"You can't tell me you think him a traitor. He's innocent. He did it for Yuuri's sake. Look at him," he said, motioning to the bed with his hand. "Look at both of them."

Gwendal couldn't have looked anywhere else. Yuuri and Wolfram lied together, peaceful in sleep. Their bodies rested inches away from one another, sharing the warmth of the blanket. Yuuri's arm draped across Wolfram's chest, his head near his shoulder, his breath rustling strands of Wolfram's hair.

They were adults, he kept reminding himself. Wolfram had been a soldier for years. He'd taken lives and defended his kingdom, and come across situations only an adult could be depended upon to handle accordingly. Similarly, Yuuri had grown into his throne; he was taller, stronger now, confident in a way he hadn't been at fifteen. Gwendal couldn't ignore either of their contributions. They'd had an equal hand in leading the country to its current, generally prosperous state.

But they were both so young. There were still so many things Wolfram didn't understand, so many ways for him to overextend himself, so many mistakes he was in danger of committing without the right guidance. He and Yuuri were boys in the bodies of men, with the responsibilities of men. By all rights they should be enjoying their youth, dancing, drinking, playing games, soaking in the sun and the fresh air, not constrained to their duties, locked in a dim office to sign document after document, under the accusing stare of their aristocratic subjects.

He looked at Wolfram's face, slack and unlined, free of the worry and agony that had masked it before, and he saw the baby he'd begrudgingly rocked to sleep, the toddler he'd held in his lap before bed each night, the precious boy with the winsome smile that Wolfram had once been.

He realized as he stood there that, in some way, he'd always thought of Wolfram the way he thought of Alexei. The only difference was how he treated him.

"They're just children," he said, his voice growing quiet.

Conrart smiled and spoke just as softly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

For months he had been putting pressure on Wolfram to play the game of politics in Yuuri's place. He'd manipulated him, forced him to sign a declaration of war, and confined him to rigid standards he'd watched him struggle to meet. He hadn't treated him half as well as he should have, had made him feel responsible, had placed Yuuri's stress and Yuuri's duty onto Wolfram's shoulders, wrongly expecting him to succeed where Yuuri had not.

In the end, Wolfram _had_ succeeded, but not without failure.

Gwendal knew he'd been wrong to forget, to overlook Wolfram's youth. Maturity and a royal title did not make one an adult. Kings and princes could be children, too.

Conrart had told him, over and over again, but he hadn't wanted to listen.

"We won't speak of this to the aristocrats," he decided. He would save Wolfram that shame. Though he didn't agree with his choices, he could see now why he'd made them. Wolfram had been expected to grow up too fast, and now he was faltering under the pressure. "Nor will we make any moves against Isidore unless Lyron reneges upon his agreement with Wolfram."

Conrart nodded, heartily agreeing. "Thank you, Gwendal," he said, face awash with relief.

"I don't deserve your thanks."

If he had treated Wolfram better, if he'd had more respect and pride for his youngest brother, would they even be here now?

Disheartened, and vexed by a sense of guilt he wasn't entirely unfamiliar with, Gwendal pivoted on his heel to make his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Conrart questioned him, remaining by the bed.

"To work," Gwendal replied.

"Work?"

"We can be sure that Wolfgang won't be assuming command for the duration of our voyage. Algren will need our assistance. The loss of their captain, king, and prince consort will make the men uneasy. It is our responsibility to see that morale does not lessen."

He couldn't see it, but he sensed that Conrart was smiling.

"It's not _your_ responsibility, you know," he said.

Gwendal paused by the door, his hand on the knob.

He'd spent years seeing that the kingdom was run as efficiently as possible. Most of his life had come and gone in Blood Pledge Castle, scrambling to salvage what he could of his mother's failed reign, preparing for the arrival of their fifteen-year-old human king. Over the last five years, he'd slowly let bits and pieces of that go, and the abated control had made him a bitter person. All of his disappointments had been placed on Yuuri and Wolfram, when he should have known all along that there were many things they were simply too young to understand.

He had been in their shoes once, long ago during his first days as an aristocrat, but he'd had a hundred long years to grow into his position. Yuuri and Wolfram had only five.

It was unfair, he concluded, and it would change now.

"I will do what I must," he told Conrart. "When His Majesty and Wolfram are prepared to take control, the kingdom will be ready for them."

He would make sure of it, just as he would make sure that their sacrifices were not made meaningless, and the rest of their childhood was not lost to the cruel world around them.

* * *

The mirror reflected a pale, tired face set with moss green eyes that scanned the glass with a listless sort of interest. Ash brown hair sat disheveled on his head, framing blanched cheeks and a mouth that had long ago forgotten how to smile – if it had ever known at all. Luxurious clothes, a nobleman's clothes, were covered by black armor, one shoulder guard dented while the fabric showed rips and tears in various places, soiled with dirt and blood and damped from the rain.

Louis could not remember the last time he'd looked so thoroughly beaten. Bruises had bloomed along the side of his face, purple and swollen from the Demon King's hand. His neck bore similar signs of abuse, reddened from the fingers that had wrapped around it, a red that was quickly forming dark, hand-shaped blemishes. He had not been so dirty, so marked with defeat, for quite a long time.

He did not wash the blood off right away. It saturated his clothes and covered his hands, drying brown against his skin. He lifted his hands to his face, lightly touching the bruises, flicking his tongue out to taste the coagulated mess on his palm. It was a sign of failure, and it stung. It amazed him, left him confused and breathless. Things should not have unraveled this way. He was experienced; he was dexterous – magnificent. He was His Majesty's most distinguished swordsman, his secret defense. He was the sword and shield of the world's greatest king!

Louis was not accustomed to failure. He'd had any impulse to admit defeat squashed out of him by his former commander – Ilyich, Duke of Korsakov. His childhood had been spent learning the finer points of swordplay, honing his skills and mastering the impeccable speed that made him famous among his comrades. He was the most prominent of Ilyich's pupils, had been taken from the disgrace of his father and raised in the king's army, dealing the king's justice. He was the king's voice, the king's hand, and the king's strength. He was representative of what His Majesty hoped to attain for his army, and his kingdom.

And he had lost to the Demon King, and to the Demon King's filthy, pathetic whore.

He had only been spared because of Wolfram's insistence. It galled him, sickened him to remember the urgent look on Wolfram's face as he'd begged his royal husband to release Louis. It shamed him to be saved by a boy so weak, by a boy who'd forgotten his soldier's duty the moment he'd been named a prince. Louis would have found more honor in dying at the hands of His Majesty's enemy than being pardoned by Wolfram's desperation to keep his treasonous faults hidden.

Sneering in disgust, Louis began to remove his armor, dropping piece after piece to the floor with a clink and clatter of metal. His torn clothes followed, pants, shirt and jacket piling on top of the boots he pulled off of his feet, creating a heap of fabric and black plates on the carpet. He left himself in nothing more than his undergarments, staring at the pale, leanly muscled body in the mirror and counting all the ways it had failed him.

The door opened, but he did not turn to see. He waited for the figure to appear behind him in the glass, knowing who it was by the dark, angry current that followed him into the room.

His Majesty looked at him with fierce, cruel eyes, a frigid blue that made Louis' cold heart feel even colder. Louis returned the gaze through the mirror, knowing better than to look away from Lyron, accepting his anger as he accepted everything else from him. The King's frown was deep, forming lines by his mouth and tightening the muscles around his eyes, his brows lowered menacingly.

"You are injured," Lyron observed, though he didn't sound concerned. He brought a hand to Louis' neck, slipping his fingers around the front in a less deliberate parody of the Demon King's hold. "You were careless."

Louis said nothing, sensing the King's dissatisfaction.

"I told you to leave Yuuri unharmed, not to attack him," His Majesty reminded him, voice lowered into a dark whisper. "He is mine to dispose of. Even Ilyich knew that."

Louis thought Ilyich had been rash, and while Ilyich hadn't defied His Majesty's orders, he had harmed the Demon King as well, yet Lyron had not been quite so displeased then.

"One of the archers tried to kill him," the King continued, "when you knew what my orders were."

"I did not direct the archers to harm him," Louis finally replied. "The man in question acted of his own volition. He has since been disposed of. His head will join the others atop the gatehouse at Your Majesty's pleasure."

"We have already discussed my pleasure, Louis. Many times, in fact. I told you what I wanted, and you agreed that it would be done."

"There were unforeseen circumstances."

"The Demon King?"

Louis nodded.

"I would not have thought you to be disheartened at the sight of him." Lyron's hand tightened, the tips of his fingers pressing into Louis' neck. "But my displeasure does not stem from that. Do you know why I am angry, Louis?"

He nodded again, and raised his hands so his king could see the blood that stained them.

"Speak," His Majesty demanded.

"Prince Wolfram was injured."

"By whom?"

"By me."

"Yes," Lyron agreed, his voice a soft, threatening hiss. "Who was it that stabbed him?"

"I did."

The King's head bobbed, his eyes growing harder as he continued to hiss into Louis' ear. "Did I not tell you that he and Yuuri were to be left unharmed? Was it not my order to bring Wolfram to me, but to treat him gently, respectfully?"

"Yes, that was your order, Your Majesty."

"Then why did you stab him?"

Louis had never intended to fight Wolfram – in fact, he hadn't intended to fight at all, unless his sword was needed to subdue Lord Weller. He'd been content to watch his men fulfill their duty, but Wolfram had escaped from those who attempted to capture him, and had approached Louis with his sword drawn in a foolish attempt to dispose of him. Wolfram had been easily overpowered, a disappointing opponent. His skills with a sword were no better than his skills in bed, rushed and dull – inept.

Wolfram was predictable, ruled by his emotions. Louis couldn't decide whether Wolfram made a better whore or a better swordsman. He was frightfully simple at each.

"Why did you stab him?" Lyron shook him when he didn't answer right away, jerking him forward and back by the hold he had on his neck.

"He challenged me," Louis said.

Lyron's glare was biting, his expression murderous. "He challenged you," he said, more an observation than a question.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Lyron stared at him through the glass, expecting no further explanation. Deceptively, he loosened his hand against Louis' throat, lightly caressing the skin instead of gripping tight. Louis was not fooled and waited for the tirade to begin, knowing he deserved every bit of Lyron's rage.

He saw the king's intent in his eyes, but was unprepared for what eventually befell him. Lyron took him by the arm and forced him around, sneering into his face.

"You stabbed him because he challenged you?" the King snarled the question, shaking him again. Lyron's other hand rose to smack him across the face, one of his rings catching Louis' bottom lip and breaking the skin.

He was shoved away and then struck again, this time with a closed fist that almost unbalanced him. He stumbled but straightened quickly, and lowered his eyes in shame the way he knew Lyron expected him to.

"Would you do the same if _I_ challenged you?" Lyron bellowed.

"No, Your Majesty," he said quietly.

"Shall we make sure?"

He was struck again, and again, and again. His face, his chest, his stomach – no part of him was safe from the King's aggressive attack. He made no move to fend Lyron off, nor did he raise his arms to defend himself. Fists rained down on him, palms slapped against his already bruised flesh, fingers dug into his arms and shook him, shoved him, dared him to fight back. He expected little mercy and received none; he was beaten, viciously and without restraint, by the King who'd never before had reason to raise a hand against him.

"You insolent dog!" Lyron shouted, his fist slamming into Louis' eye. "You worthless swine! You dare to disregard my orders? I've given you everything, and how do you repay me? By wounding what will be mine!"

Lyron shoved him into the side of the bed. His hand closed around Louis' neck again, forcing his back to bend, leaning over him as Louis hung on the edge of the mattress. Louis met his eyes but could not force himself to appear remorseful.

If he regretted injuring Wolfram, it was only because his actions had led him into disgrace. If the King had no interest in Wolfram, if Lyron hadn't cared what became of the demon prince, Louis would have killed him without any second thoughts.

"Did you fear that he would replace you?" Lyron asked. "Did you hope to remove him and rid yourself of the competition?"

Louis would like to know what competition he was referring to. There was nothing about Wolfram that surpassed him, except that Wolfram looked younger and was more beautiful.

"Answer me when I ask you a question!"

"No, Your Majesty," he said around the hand that grasped his throat.

"You think because you bear the name Adla, you can do as you wish?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"Who was it that gave you that name?"

"Your lord cousin."

"By whose grace?"

"Yours, Your Majesty."

"_Mine_!" Lyron agreed, the grip of his hand growing tighter. Louis could barely breathe. "Who was it that saved you from your father's shame?"

"Y-Your lord cousin," Louis wheezed again, "and Lord Kurgan."

"Ilyich," Lyron said the name of his old friend for the first time in months, but said nothing of his cousin. "Ilyich, who advised me before you. Ilyich, who trained you. Ilyich, whom I trusted. Ilyich, who died in my service! And now you think you can do better, because I allowed you to take his place? I show you my favor, and this is how you repay me?"

Louis tried to respond, but could no longer speak.

"Where is your loyalty? You would be nothing without Lord Adla, nothing without Ilyich, and nothing without _me_! Louis Maximilien! Just a filthy rat with no more than your father's traitorous name!"

There was no part of Lyron's exclamation that Louis could deny. He _was_ nothing, had always _been_ nothing, and would always _be_ nothing. His only purpose was to serve the king, but he could hardly even do that.

"I… was trained… to kill…" he croaked out slowly, the only excuse he would ever make for himself.

Ilyich had taught him to be swift and vicious; Lord Adla had taught him to enjoy the total subjugation of his enemy. They had both given him a taste for battle, a taste for blood.

Lyron growled and shoved him away, removing his hand from his neck. Louis half fell onto the bed, his torso meeting the mattress while his legs dangled over the edge, feet planted against the carpeted floor. He breathed deeply to refill his lungs with air, coughing through the stinging of his twice-abused throat.

"You will no longer sit on my council," Lyron decreed. His voice had lowered, but he sounded no less angry. "I have not yet decided if I will revoke your position as my Specialized Military Adviser, but you can be sure that I will consider it and speak with Robert as soon as I make my decision."

Louis didn't answer. He would not beg the King to reconsider. If he was dismissed and had his title rescinded, then it was no more than what he deserved.

"You are lucky your head does not join the other traitors atop the gatehouse," Lyron told him, then stormed from the room.

The door slammed, rattling the mirror on the wall and echoing in Louis' dark, richly furnished chamber. He remained by the bed, panting and coughing, feeling he world disintegrate into ash around him. The flames from his youth returned to burn him, pulling him down to the hell that had taken his family.

Since he'd become Lyron's frequent bedmate, the King had never left his room without a single kiss, without executing his right and seeking pleasure in him.

Louis had taken Lyron's pleasure and unintentionally defiled it. He had failed, had committed a sin against the King just as his father had, had behaved in a manner that was undeserving of the King's forgiveness. No excuse was adequate; he had defied orders and he would be punished accordingly.

He pushed himself from the bed when he had recovered, though his lungs still burned from the initial lack of oxygen and its sudden return. Disgraced and appropriately defamed, he limped to his private bath.

He didn't cry because he didn't know how to, and because doing so would make him weak. He didn't stagger after the King and beg for his forgiveness, or for his mercy. He didn't feel anger toward Lyron, or distress toward his current state. He felt nothing. He simply left his room to wash Wolfram's blood from his hands, his eyes vacant and his expression slack.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Yuuri sat in a chair by the bedside, his hands fidgeting in his lap, wringing together before separating to pick at a thread on his pant leg. He had his eyes lowered, staring first at his hands, then the bed sheets, before glancing to the side. He looked at everything – the wardrobe, the washroom door, the windows, everything except the man sitting up in bed.

"You have no need to apologize, Your Majesty," a voice replied, deep and tired. "You did nothing less than could be expected under the circumstances."

"I didn't mean to lose control like that."

"You doing so saved many lives."

Yuuri frowned. He felt guilty for not saving more. They'd lost over a dozen men to the Black Knights the day they'd left Isidore, and their bodies, left there in the road, would be lost forever. He didn't even have anything to give to their families – just apologies.

"I should have saved more," he said.

"You did enough. What more can we expect from you?"

"A lot more!" Yuuri insisted, shifting in his chair. "I'm the king! What happened in Isidore was _my_ responsibility! I didn't even come back with a treaty! We went all the way there, and for what? Nothing!"

"What happened on the road to the port was the responsibility of your soldiers," the deep voice intoned. "Your safety and your survival are our main objectives. I regret nothing, and you can be sure that the men who lost their lives felt the same."

Yuuri couldn't be sure. He'd never been a soldier, and certainly not a soldier in this sort of world. He didn't know how they thought. He didn't know how deeply ingrained their loyalty truly was. All he knew was that they had families, too. They had lives outside of their duties, friends, parents, and wives that he couldn't just ignore. He felt selfish receiving so much obedience and loyalty from people, and not giving them anything in return.

He'd tried to give his people a better world, but so far all he'd given them in the last year was fear and death.

"I've compensated their families," he replied. "I know it's not the same as having them back, but… hopefully it's enough to make things a little easier for them."

"That is very generous, Your Majesty."

Finally, Yuuri looked up, taking in the figure on the bed. Wolfgang sat beneath the sheets and a thin blanket, wearing a dark blue robe over a simple night shirt. He was propped up against large pillows, his hair unbound and hanging around his disfigured face in waves. He looked healthy enough, pale but spry, light tendrils of smoke curling about his head from the pipe he held in his single hand.

He expected Wolfgang to be allowed out of bed any day now; he was almost surprised that Wolfram's father hadn't tried to leave his bed already. Wolfgang hadn't suffered a great many injuries, and Gisela seemed satisfied with the rate in which his only wound was healing. A string of bandages wrapped around his head, covering the empty socket that had once contained an eye.

Yuuri couldn't remember a lot of what happened. He saw the battle on the road as a number of fragmented pictures in his mind – crouching low in the carriage, searching for Conrad, pain in his shoulder, Wolfram running off to confront Louis. The images became even hazier when he struggled to remember the period of time in which his inner self had been released, though he recalled his explosive anger, shouting loudly as it erupted to consume the area, the sudden blast destroying a cluster of trees.

Some of the shrapnel had hit Wolfgang before he could avoid it, as he and Louis were knocked to the ground. The shards of wood, as sharp as any man-made weapon, had taken out his left eye.

"I want to do something for you, too," Yuuri said, feeling responsible even if Wolfgang claimed it wasn't his fault. Wolfgang already had to contend with the handicap of a missing arm. Now he was missing an eye as well.

Wolfgang raised his pipe to his mouth to puff on it for a few moments, before saying, "You can take care of my son."

Yuuri had expected him to refuse. Wolfgang didn't strike him as the sort to agree to accept any form of compensation. He spoke of loyalty and duty as if they were things that required no reward. He felt them innately, and responded to them with the pride of his youth. Yuuri supposed his loyalty was one of the only things Wolfgang had left to feel pride in, considering how much he'd lost.

"Protecting Wolfram is the greatest gift you could ever bestow upon me," Wolfgang said, looking at him with his single eye, his lips quirked lightly, almost unnoticeably, but Yuuri saw it. "I cannot thank you enough for saving him. Losing an eye is a small price to pay to keep him safe."

"I shouldn't have let him run off," Yuuri replied. If he'd been paying more attention, he could have avoided the arrow that lodged into his shoulder, and then stopped Wolfram before he could act so foolishly.

Wolfgang chuckled. It sounded ironic. "Wolfram is his own master," he countered.

Yuuri frowned again. As true as the response was, he couldn't like it. Wolfram's independent streak was getting him into trouble. He was becoming bigheaded, trying to handle too much. It was dangerous, going on like that, and Yuuri couldn't let it continue. What if Wolfram did something like that again and no one was there to help him? Any more recklessness and he was going to get himself killed.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and it opened with a creak. Lady Celi's head popped into view first, before she slipped around the door to make her way into the room, smiling brightly.

"Your Majesty!" she greeted him happily. "How good to see you!"

Yuuri's frown slid into a small smile. "Hi, Lady Celi," he said. He stood from the chair to make room for her. "I was just checking on Captain von Bielefeld."

"You've told him to get his rest, I hope!" she said with a quick, sullen look in Wolfgang's direction. "He keeps insisting he's ready to return to command! I keep telling him to give it another week at least! He'll recover more quickly here than he will at sea!"

"It's where I belong, Cecilie," Wolfgang told her patiently.

"Oh, darling, really!" she exclaimed, sounding exasperated, but she was smiling and looking at him fondly.

Her term of endearment caused Yuuri's smile to widen. The times his husband used the same word were rare, but it always warmed him. "How's Wolfram?" he asked, assuming Lady Celi had recently been to see him.

"Just like his father!" she said. "Injured and sitting up in bed! I told him to get some rest, but he wouldn't hear it! You think he'd listen to his mother for once. He obviously gets his stubbornness from you, Wolf. I can't imagine he got very much of it from me."

"I can," Wolfgang returned.

Yuuri had to agree, but didn't say so.

Lady Celi huffed, but she was still smiling. "We just finished tea. I told him to get some sleep, but I doubt he'll listen. I even shooed Greta and Elizabeth out so he could have some peace. If he keeps it up, I'll be reporting his behavior to Gisela."

"I'll go see him," Yuuri offered. He went to the door but paused before he could open it, looking back at his father-in-law. "I know you'd like to get back to your ship, and I'll agree to it if you insist, but I'd really like it if you stayed for a while."

Wolfgang lowered his pipe again and Lady Celi looked pleased.

"I'm sure my presence would cause much disagreement among the Aristocrats," Wolfgang said.

Yuuri rolled his eyes. "The Aristocrats can go-" he cut himself off before he could say anything especially rude. "I'll be speaking to the Aristocrats soon," he continued. "I'm not exactly happy with them right now."

"Have they caused more trouble?"

"It isn't that," Yuuri said, shaking his head. "But they haven't been making things easier either. Aside from Anissina's brother, Gwendal, Gunter, and Julius, none of them have done anything about the traitor _or_ about the war. They don't have a problem criticizing me or Wolfram, but they haven't done what I asked them to."

"So they're to be reprimanded."

"That's the plan."

He didn't want to do it. Ignoring the Aristocrats altogether would have been the easier option, but if they insisted on complaining and inundating him with demands and opinions, he thought it was only fair that they bear a bit of the weight. If they wanted to remain in power, then they should earn it. Right?

"I think I'd feel a lot better about it if you stayed," Yuuri said, shifting from one foot to the next and feeling a little awkward. Even after everything that Wolfgang had told him, he doubted he knew him as well as he could, but he felt comfortable with him now. He knew he could depend on him, the same as he depended on Gwendal, Conrad, and Gunter.

Wolfgang considered him during a few seconds of silence, then nodded his agreement. "I would be honored to serve you."

Yuuri smiled again, relieved. "Thanks," he said. He took hold of the handle to turn it, pulling the door open. "I'll come see you again soon, if you don't mind."

"Of course not. You are always welcome, Your Majesty."

He left feeling slightly better, slightly more confident, though he doubted his guilt would ever leave. Lady Celi took his place by the bedside, tending to her ex-husband as he was sure she had long ago when they'd been married. It made Yuuri happy to see that they still had a peaceful, tender relationship. Wolfram had the chance to have a more stable family life, he just had to see the chance for himself and take it.

Sighing as he thought of his husband, Yuuri shut the door behind him and turned to make his way down the hall. He limped as he went, the wound in his leg aching when he put too much of his weight on it, but it was nothing that would incapacitate him. He was home now, and there was work to be done. He could work through a week-old injury.

They'd sent word ahead of them while they'd been on the boat, a message conveyed by one of Yozak's carrier pigeons that had arrived at Blood Pledge Castle a day before they had. Murata and Gunter had reacted as Yuuri had hoped, and Gisela had been recalled from her medical unit, meeting them on the road from the port and joining them back to the castle. She'd been both anxious and angry. Naturally, she'd made sure to yell at them, and though Yuuri had felt guilty for causing her so much trouble, he wouldn't have wanted anyone else to take care of his husband.

Of course, she fretted about his wounds as well, and insisted that he take it easy, but Yuuri felt much too antsy to stay in bed. He could get around well enough, in any case.

It took him only a little longer than normal to hobble to his bedroom, and when he arrived he didn't pause to knock. He opened the door and crossed inside, his attention immediately drawn to the figure in bed.

Wolfram was sitting up, propped against a pile of pillows just like his father, clothed in a thin, yellow spring nightgown and a fluffy pink robe. He had his hair pulled high and tied with a white ribbon, evidence to Greta's recent visit. She'd taken to seeing them both between her lessons, brushing Wolfram's hair, bringing Yuuri bits and pieces of information she'd managed to glean after hanging around the adults, but also making sure they were getting enough rest, no doubt reporting her findings to Gisela.

Wolfram looked up when he entered and smiled, before returning his sights to the lump of blond hair and baby fat beside him. Merry was on his back on the mattress, looking up at Wolfram with wide blue eyes and gurgling happily, waving his arms and jerking his legs with incessant energy. Wolfram wiggled his fingers at him, then lowered his hands to the baby's sides, digging his fingers in to make Merry shriek with laughter.

Yuuri sighed again and approached the bed. "You should be resting," he told him.

Wolfram rolled his eyes at him while smiling in response to Merry's hearty giggles. "I'm still in bed, aren't I?"

"I don't see you sleeping."

"I can rest and not sleep. I took a nap just after lunch. I've only been up for a couple of hours at most."

"Your mother said you're being stubborn again."

"Mother is being unreasonable, and so are you," Wolfram said, continuing to smile at Merry. He stopped tickling to let him breathe, but once Merry had caught his breath he dug his fingers in again. "Besides, I'm only playing with the baby."

"What if he hurts you?" Yuuri asked, stopping at the bedside.

"How is he going to hurt me?"

"He's flailing around, and you have him on your right side!"

He couldn't see the bandages beneath Wolfram's clothes, but he knew exactly where his most serious injury was - below his ribs and above his right hip, stitched closed but not yet healed.

Wolfram was recovering, but slowly. Gisela was hesitant to let him out of bed at all, though she'd consented to allowing him to make his way to the bathroom instead of humiliating him with the order that he should be carried and assisted, an order Yuuri was sure Gisela had been tempted to give. Luckily, Louis' dagger had missed his vital areas, but it had gone deep and Wolfram had lost a lot of blood. He was still dreadfully pale and he tired easily, not to mention the vials of medicine he had to take to numb the pain.

But Wolfram was nothing if not persistent in his stubbornness, and continued to behave quite flippantly in regards to his injuries. "He's fine," he said, letting Merry breathe again. "I don't see what's so wrong with having a little company."

"There _isn't_ anything wrong with it," Yuuri agreed, frowning at him, "but you should still be careful. Why isn't Katherine in here with him?"

"I told her I wanted some time with him on my own. She's cleaning the nursery."

"I thought the point of having a nanny was for her to watch the baby while you got some rest."

"The point of having a nanny," Wolfram informed him, "was so you and I could work. Since I'm not currently allowed in the office, I see no reason why I can't spend my time with the son you and I both adopted."

Yuuri thought that might have been a jab at his recent neglect toward Merry, a jab he chose not to respond to. "I wish you'd take it easy," he said instead.

"I am. I'm not the one out of bed already, limping around and burying myself under paperwork."

"I'm fine," Yuuri replied.

"I'm not so sure I believe you."

"It doesn't even hurt."

"Now who's being stubborn?"

Yuuri frowned, watching Wolfram scoop Merry into his arms and hold him against his chest. Merry continued to wiggle and flail, bouncing happily and lifting his hands to Wolfram's face. Wolfram pretended to eat one of them, which had Merry grinning wider.

"Mammm-ma!" Merry crowed.

"It's 'Wolfram,'" Wolfram corrected him.

Merry just giggled and fell against him to snuggle, drooling all over the shoulder of Wolfram's robe. Wolfram sighed and rolled his eyes again, but seemed quite content.

Yuuri took Merry's empty spot on the bed, climbing up to sit next to Wolfram. He moved his hands to Wolfram's injuries and used his magic to sense how well they were healing or if they'd been aggravated at all. Only when he was satisfied did he transfer them to Wolfram's face instead.

"You're warm," he observed. "And your face looks a little flushed."

"Gisela says I have a bit of a fever."

"Infection?"

"Not my wounds," Wolfram said. "It's just a little cold. Nothing to worry about."

"You're not going to recover any faster if you get sick."

"I'll be fine, Yuuri. You act like I've never been hurt before."

The comment silenced Yuuri for a moment. He let go of Wolfram and leaned against the pillows, dropping his head back to look at the ceiling. "You've never been hurt this badly before. You could have died, Wolf."

"I didn't."

"But you could have."

It was Wolfram's turn to grow quiet. He adjusted Merry in his arms, sliding his fingers through blond baby curls.

"I would have killed him if you had," Yuuri admitted. The anger he'd felt at the time didn't come to him now. It had been drained away with his energy, channeled through his other self and released in an explosion of power. But he knew for certain what he would have done if Wolfram hadn't survived the battle. He didn't question it at all, nor did he feel bad thinking about it.

For once, he thought someone deserved it. If Louis had killed Wolfram, he would have deserved to die.

"Don't say things like that," Wolfram said.

"It's true."

"I'm not worth it."

"Of course you are," Yuuri said, rolling his head to the side to look at him. "You're worth everything."

Wolfram's face took on a strange expression, surprised and hopeful, but scared, too.

Yuuri didn't like to think of Wolfram dying, but it had been one of his most frequent thoughts since he'd awoken on the ship, Wolfram lying pale and still as a corpse beside him. His nightmares were no longer of flames and running, screaming people, or Ilyich's laughter and his final praises for his nefarious king. He dreamed of Wolfram, cold and motionless, and no matter how much he shook him or how many times he called his name, he wouldn't wake up.

He woke every time in a cold sweat, his heart pounding harshly, his darker half stirring in the back of his mind. He didn't really want to kill another living being. He still looked back on Ilyich's death with distress and a fair bit of remorse, but he knew that he could do it again if provoked. He thought he should be disturbed by the knowledge, but he wasn't. All it took was the memory of Louis' dagger plunging into Wolfram's side, and Yuuri was more certain of this one conclusion than he was about anything else.

"Darling," Wolfram said. His voice had gone soft, and he looked at Yuuri in concern. "We're home now. We're safe."

"I know," Yuuri agreed, nodding shallowly and turning his head back to stare up at the ceiling, outlined by the frame of the canopy. "But for how long?"

"You're worrying too much."

"I used my powers in Isidore. I almost killed another one of Lyron's advisers. He's not going to let me get away with it."

"I thought you said there's been evidence of his Black Knights leaving the kingdom?"

"There is, but who says he's not planning something else. Maybe he's trying to lull me in to a false sense of security."

"Maybe he's realized it's not such a good idea to challenge you."

Yuuri snorted. "I doubt that. He doesn't exactly see me as his equal, does he?"

"He isn't worth the stress, Yuuri," Wolfram told him. As always when they spoke of Lyron, his voice grew quiet and apprehensive, distant.

"I can't just forget about it. We left without a treaty. He can do whatever he wants."

Wolfram fell silent again, turning his attention to the baby, rocking him and nuzzling his face against Merry's hair. Yuuri wanted to ask him, again, what had happened the morning Wolfram had joined Lyron for the holy service, but he knew the answer would be the same.

Nothing. They just talked.

The more he heard the reply, the more he didn't believe it, but that didn't mean he had any idea what the truth was. Once over the last few days he'd asked Conrad, but his godfather had corroborated the story, smiling his gentle smile and lightly squeezing Yuuri's shoulder.

He wondered if he was being paranoid, being so suspicious. Wolfram would never lie to him.

Would he?

"I thought you'd be working late tonight," Wolfram eventually spoke again. Yuuri couldn't tell if he was attempting to change the subject to get the topic off Lyron, of if he really was curious as to why he wasn't still in his office. "Even though you should be resting, too. What does Gisela say about you working all the time?"

"She says it's fine so long as I don't try to do too much. I'm fine in the office, Wolf. It's not like I'm doing more than sitting at my desk."

"She's so lenient with you."

"I'm not hurt as badly as you are."

Wolfram frowned but chose not to argue. "What are you doing out of the office then? You worked until well after dinner last night."

"Gwendal told me to take a break."

"Gwendal did?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh?"

Not that he was complaining, but the docile manner in which Gwendal had been treating him lately was different from what he was used to. When before Gwendal would have insisted that he stay until his work was finished, he was now sending Yuuri off to rest at least twice a day.

"I think you getting hurt freaked him out," he said, turning to look at Wolfram again, smiling gently. "He sounds grumpy when he does it, but every time I get to the office he asks how you're doing."

Wolfram's cheeks grew a little pinker. "He has come by to see me more than I expected he would."

"I'm glad. I didn't like seeing the both of you fighting with one another."

"We weren't fighting."

"Yeah, but you were mad at each other."

Wolfram shrugged and pretended as if it was nothing, like it happened all the time, but Yuuri knew the distance from his older brother had hurt Wolfram greatly. Wolfram had always been so close to Gwendal, Yuuri doubted they'd ever had such a big disagreement before.

Still smiling, Yuuri heaved himself up, careful not to put too much pressure on his injured arm. He shifted closer to Wolfram, reaching out to take his face into his hands again, feeling the heat of fever in his cheeks and turning his head to look him in the eye. Wolfram looked back at him, curious, and didn't fight when Yuuri kissed him. Wolfram's lips opened against his, and Yuuri was only too pleased to slip his tongue inside.

Wolfram's mouth was wet and warmer than usual, his tongue brushing against Yuuri's languidly, a soft moan escaping his throat to vibrate between them. Yuuri held his face gently, caressing Wolfram's cheeks with his thumbs. It was slow and tender. Yuuri felt calmed by Wolfram's close proximity, sharing his body heat and drowning in the familiar taste of him.

"I want you," he said when he broke the kiss, planting his lips against the side from Wolfram's face, where the bruises from Louis' sword-hilt were slowly fading.

"I want you, too," Wolfram replied, nuzzling against him. "But we can't."

Yuuri groaned, though he knew Wolfram was right; they were both injured, and Wolfram was coming down with something. Even so, he couldn't help but be disappointed. If Wolfram's mouth was so warm, he wondered what he felt like elsewhere.

"Soon," Wolfram told him in recompense. "When we've both healed."

"Right." Yuuri nodded, taking Wolfram's lips again. He kissed him passionately, making up for the fact that they could do nothing else. It didn't help him feel any less frustrated, however. In a matter of moments, his pants began to feel entirely too tight.

"Darling," Wolfram said, his voice light but warning as he repeated himself, pulling back. "We can't."

"I know, I know," Yuuri replied and broke away. He pressed their foreheads together for a little while, staring into Wolfram's eyes, but little hands pressed against his chest and forced him to pull back. He glanced down at Merry and was met with the baby's disgruntled expression. "Don't you get enough attention?"

Merry looked like he would very much like to huff at him, clinging to Wolfram as if to lay claim to him.

"I'll win one day," Yuuri warned him. "I can always take you straight back to Katherine."

"Naannnn-na!"

"That's right. Your nanny."

"Leave him, Yuuri," Wolfram requested. "We hardly ever get to be with him anymore."

"I don't think he cares much about being with me," Yuuri said, flinging himself back against the pillows. He looked at Merry suspiciously, before shifting his eyes up to Wolfram's face, examining the pale skin. "I need something to call you," he decided.

Wolfram looked slightly bewildered, adjusting Merry to rest more comfortably against him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I need something to call you," Yuuri said again, "like you call me 'darling.'"

His husband flushed in embarrassment. "I don't mean to."

"But I like it."

"I know. Which is why I don't stop myself."

"So I need something to call you, too."

"You could just call me by my name, like you always have."

"Don't people usually have pet names for one another when they're in a relationship, though? You know, like 'Pookie' or whatever."

"I'll hit you if you call me 'Pookie,'" Wolfram warned with a frown. "What does that even mean?"

"Hell if I know," Yuuri replied, forgetting to censor himself around Merry. He didn't think it mattered anyway. It's not like Merry was speaking all that much yet. "I could always call you 'darling,' too."

"I won't respond to it."

"Why not?"

"It reminds me of my mother and father."

"That's probably why you say it, then, huh? It's the first thing that comes to mind." Yuuri paused and thought of his own mother and father. "What about 'honey?' That's what Mom and Dad call each other."

"Wouldn't it be strange?"

"No, not really. I guess it'd be the most natural thing to say since that's what I grew up hearing," he said, lifting a hand to brush at Wolfram's golden bangs. "I wonder when people started referring to each other by the names of food. There's always 'Muffin' and 'Cupcake.'"

"Call me either one of those and you'll be sleeping somewhere else."

"'Baby?'"

Wolfram frowned, his nose scrunching as he stuck out his tongue in disgust. "Too demeaning."

"'Dearest?'"

The disgusted look remained. "Too sugary. It sounds like you're trying to suck up."

Yuuri had to admit it didn't really fit. It was too cutesy. He needed something better than that, a manner in which to sum up his feelings in a single word. He wanted something that would describe Wolfram accurately, something to express what Wolfram had come to mean to him. He had no idea how deeply his feelings ran. He still couldn't tell if what he felt for Wolfram was the same as Wolfram felt for him. He knew he loved Wolfram, but he loved many people, Wolfram was just more important.

Wolfram was his best friend, and his lover; Wolfram made the world a little bit brighter whenever Yuuri felt down. Yuuri knew he felt passion for him, knew he felt desire. He wanted Wolfram's body, he wanted his heart, he wanted his soul. He wanted Wolfram's fingers entwined with his, he wanted Wolfram's hair fanned out next to his head on the pillow, he wanted Wolfram's arms around him and his body against him, his mouth close enough to kiss. He wanted Wolfram like he'd never wanted anyone before, and he wanted him alone.

No one else was good enough. No one else could look into his eyes and calm him with a word. No one else could make his blood run hot and fast; no one else made him feel so much pleasure, so much ecstasy. Wolfram had become his focal point in the universe, his pillar of stability in a world in which he feared he would be lost forever. Wolfram had opened himself to him, shared his heart, bared his soul, and Yuuri hoped that it would never end.

"'Sweetheart,'" he said, not questioning it, but settling on it firmly.

Wolfram's face smoothed out, his tongue retreating back into his mouth. "What?" he asked.

"Sweetheart," Yuuri said again, even more comfortable with it the second time around. It sounded natural to say it, rolling off of his tongue with ease.

Wolfram looked at him for a few moments, his eyes slightly wide, before he shrugged and glanced down at Merry instead.

He didn't say anything, but Yuuri knew from the blush on Wolfram's face that it was perfect.

**TBC…**


	29. Terminer

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. All of the original characters were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guine-chan

**Warnings:** Spoilers for the end of Season Two. Language, violence, blood, dark/adult themes, angst, and sexual content.

**Pairings(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram

**Rating:** M

**A/N: **So I know I said I would get back to everyone who left a review last time, but something came up and now I'm left making excuses again. I literally had no internet for about three weeks following my last update. I just got back online this week, and to make up for the lack of response I've been working my butt off trying to get this done over the last few days!

There are only two comments I have before we get underway: 1) Please, don't translate my story without my permission. A lot of people have asked to do so, but I still haven't made a decision on whether that's a path I want to take or not. I've had an experience before in which _Love and War_ was translated without my knowledge (and without the proper credit given), and to be honest it's made me hesitant to allow it even when people do ask. But I'm thinking about it!

And, 2) Never, ever feel like you're writing too much in a review! I love reading every word you guys leave me and I've always so very thankful for the time you take to read and respond! I'm so happy to finally be finishing this story. It's been nearly five years since I started planning it, so it's been a long time! I will be honest and say that I cried when I got to the end! I hope you guys enjoy it and I look forward to starting on the sequel!

This is the last chapter, but an epilogue should be posted sometime within the next week! I have to do just a little more with it before it's done!

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_**Love and War**_

**by Mikage**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine – Terminer – To End**

Yuuri's office was teeming with tension and hostility, yet no one made a sound. The Aristocrats sat around the long table, Gwendal and Gunter in their usual places closest to Yuuri's desk, buffered from the remainder of their peers by the impartial Mikhail von Karbelnikoff and Odel von Wincott. Stoffel sat to Mikhail's right, Julius across from him. Auberon was on the opposite side, next to Odel, and the three female Aristocrats – Winifred first, then Griselda and Marlena – rounded out the end of the table.

A myriad of nasty looks were thrown around the room. Julius glared belligerently at Wolfgang, who stood with Conrad by the map of the Great Demon Kingdom, his bandages replaced with a simple black eye-patch. Marlena was joined in her loathing for her brother's presence by her two female companions. Adalbert's return from the battlefield was both recent and victorious; Cimaron's troops had successfully been forced to retreat, scampering back to their own kingdom and to their ailing, bedridden king. Adalbert stood by the door, smirking whenever Marlena glowered at him over her shoulder.

Not to be outdone was Auberon, who sat in his chair with a surly expression, arms crossed over his large chest as he frowned in his nephew's direction. As always, he had been the last to arrive, and was easily the most contentious of the lot. Even the attendance of his younger brother did not seem to lighten his mood. He led the ladies in a defiant silence, refusing to speak among those who opposed him.

Yuuri sat still in his chair and took his time observing them. He'd hoped one of them might give themselves away as the guilty individual who'd been sharing information with Isidore, but so far they were all behaving normally. Perhaps he was being too hopeful, thinking that finding the traitor would really be that simple. None of them looked remotely uneasy. On the contrary, they'd strode in with their usual show of arrogance, taking their seats and staring around as if this meeting was simply another waste of their time.

Wolfram occupied a chair to Yuuri's right, easily the most uncomfortable of the sixteen people who'd gathered in the room. After two weeks in bed, Wolfram was still notably pale and prone to tire early. His wound was healing, to Yuuri's relief, but it remained tender and a cause of great discomfort to Wolfram, who had only recently been allowed back to work. Over the last week, Wolfram had suffered under the effects of a cold and a persistent fever, and though Wolfram claimed he was well enough to assist Yuuri in his struggles with the Aristocrats, the light flush in his cheeks and the glassy sheen to his eyes caused Yuuri quite a bit of doubt.

The curtains had been opened to admit the light of the sun, which glinted in Wolfram's freshly washed hair and warmed the office to a pleasant degree. Nevertheless, Wolfram wore clothing more suited to winter than mid-spring, as sure a sign as any that his fever had yet to break. Yuuri would rather Wolfram go back to bed, but knew Wolfram would resist whatever commands he attempted to make. He had that morning, unyielding in his request to follow Yuuri to the office.

His husband sat stiffly in his cushioned chair, nervously twisting the ring Yuuri's mother had given him around his left ring finger. Yuuri grabbed Wolfram's hand to still the movement, massaging the palm with a gentle press of his thumb. Wolfram's hand was cold, his skin clammy to the touch, and every once in a while he would shiver with a feverish chill.

Yuuri was determined to end this meeting quickly, for Wolfram's sake more than anyone else's.

Murata joined them at the desk. His recent appointments as Yuuri's regent meant he was as knowledgeable of current events in the country as Yuuri was himself, though Yuuri expected Murata understood a lot more. He'd brought up a chair to the end of the desk on Yuuri's left, leaning on his elbows with his fingers laced together and his chin resting upon them. He looked around the room a bit more intently than Yuuri, consistently shrewd and attentive, his glasses occasionally catching the light from the sun, shielding his eyes in a ploy of mystery that Yuuri had grown used to.

The room was cloaked in silence. Every once in a while, a chair would creak when one of them shifted into a more comfortable position, but no one spoke. Yuuri was almost surprised – would have been if the Aristocrats hadn't been growing increasingly more recalcitrant since their last meeting. The shouting he was used to had yet to arise, though he could sense their tempers and suspected at least one of them would submit to a tirade before this conference was over.

Only Gwendal, Gunter, Mikhail and Odel showed him a shred of respect. Stoffel was predictably vacillating; he'd pledged his unswerving loyalty, but Yuuri knew better than to expect that he couldn't be influenced by the others if met with the right form of persuasion. Generally even-tempered, Julius' ire had been ignited upon seeing Wolfgang and Wolfram, and he seemed to waver between ignoring them or spearing them with looks of unequivocal hate. Auberon, Winifred, Griselda and Marlena shared expressions of distrust and annoyance.

Yuuri did not attempt to hold back a sigh. He supposed he would have to be the one to break the tense deadlock.

"I don't think I need to tell any of you how disappointed I am," he began, grasping tight to his courage, lest he falter to intimidation. "The last time we met like this, I asked you to find the traitor, but so far none of you have gathered any information that might help us identify him. You've taken refuge here or gone back to your own castles, while our country's been at war and our people have been dying."

He paused as if to let one of them speak, but there wasn't any response. Auberon sneered and Marlena examined her nails, while Stoffel traced a scratch on the table and Griselda stared off into space.

"A year ago, most of you pressured me to sign a declaration. Lady von Yale, you told me our problems with Cimaron wouldn't be solved unless we went to war."

Winifred's eyes met his for the briefest of moments, before she glanced to the side.

"Lady von Hassel," he continued, watching Griselda puff up in her seat, "you argued with and insulted my husband. You questioned my decision to give medical care to our soldiers at the battlefield, and seemed to imply that the lives of our subjects are less important than upholding our honor. The way I see it, if we allowed our subjects to die needlessly we'd have no honor left."

Griselda lifted her chin in a show of self-importance, but unlike Winifred she failed to meet his eyes.

"Lady von Grantz-"

"Kindly get to the point, Your Majesty," Marlena cut him off, bristling with irritation. "I refuse to stand for your blatant show of sexism."

Yuuri paused, baffled by her comment. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me!" Marlena exclaimed. "You speak of Winifred, Griselda and I, the only women at this table, as if we are the only ones to have done wrong."

"You're not," Yuuri replied. "I just started with you because you've been the most vocal. Lady von Yale started pressuring me to follow her suggestions the moment we met, and Lady von Hassel was only too happy to harass Wolfram while I was gone. I don't think I need to repeat some of the things she said about him."

Griselda grumbled something under her breath, crossing her arms beneath her heavy bosom.

"Do you want to say that again, Lady von Hassel? I didn't quite hear you."

She responded with a hard glare of her beady eyes.

"And you, Lady von Grantz, have continuously questioned my decisions. You were never supportive of me pardoning Adalbert and you fought with me when I reappointed him as General. Both decisions I made for the good of the country and as a way to give our army an advantage against Cimaron, but you refused to trust that I knew what I was doing."

"We have the right to question you," Marlena countered, "and unless you plan on revoking our privileges, that will not change."

"I've considered it," he revealed to an assortment of contentious expressions. "The only reason I haven't done it yet is because I haven't been able to convince myself that getting rid of you would yield more benefits than problems."

Yuuri did his best to appear in control of the situation, when he knew his power could be taken from him at any moment, as soon as one of the Aristocrats decided to initiate their heated arguments. He knew he wasn't strong enough to subdue them; they knew him well after working with him and observing him for a year. They might look surprised by his statement, but he doubted very many of them believed it. More than likely, they were simply offended that he would even suggest such a thing.

"Your Majesty," Stoffel tried, "you cannot change a system of government that has been in place for thousands of years."

"He can," Murata said. So far, he hadn't moved at all, still looking out at them over his twined hands. "There isn't any law that says he can't. The only reason it hasn't been done before is because the Aristocrats have traditionally held most of the power. They were the stabilizing force in a kingdom that saw the continuously irregular demotion of one monarch and immediate appointment of the next. With that sort of repeated change at the head of government, a constant group of representatives from the country's territories was necessary in order to maintain some level of consistency."

"But Yuuri is the last king to be chosen by the Great One," Wolfram added. He sounded weary, but his regal posture never once faltered. "He will remain on the throne until the end of his life, and appoint his own heir to assume the throne after him. A more stable line at the seat of the monarchy will continue from then on, lessening the importance of the Aristocrats to a more minor role."

"If you're saying _you_ plan to be rid of us when it comes time for you to take the crown, then I refuse to accept you as His Majesty's heir," Winifred snarled, her eyes flashing at Wolfram in warning.

"He isn't saying that," Yuuri reassured them, though he wasn't quite convinced of it himself. "What he's saying is that we have that option, and we won't hesitate to go through with it if we feel it's necessary in order for the kingdom to prosper."

"So you wish to have absolute power?" Auberon questioned him, clenching his hands into fists on the tabletop.

"No, that's not what I want. I want us to be able to work together. Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered to call another meeting."

"The only reason you called us here is to exhort your authority!" Auberon bellowed. He looked as if he were about to rise from his chair and storm out of the room. "If we had known he would poison your mind with such madness," he said, pointing a thick finger at Wolfram, "we never would have agreed to make him Prince Consort!"

"The only reason you suggested that he be my Prince Consort is because you wanted him to sign a Declaration of War," Yuuri reminded them. "Instead of convincing me that it was necessary, you tricked me into marrying Wolfram so that you could manipulate him and have a Declaration of War signed behind my back. That sounds close to treason, to me."

"If you're going to accuse any of us, then you can accuse Lord von Voltaire!" Auberon turned on Gwendal. "He was the one pressuring us to agree!"

Gwendal met Auberon with a cold glare, but didn't speak to defend himself. He sat straight in his chair, completely unaffected by the arguing occurring around him. Of course, Yuuri had spoken with him about what he intended to talk about beforehand, so Gwendal had probably made sure to prepare himself for these sorts of accusations.

"I've already talked to Gwendal about that," Yuuri said.

"Yet I don't see you criticizing _him_!" Griselda joined Auberon in his dispute. "Once again you favor Cecilie's sons!"

"Gwendal has been loyal to me," Yuuri insisted, trying not to take the bait and allow his voice to rise in response.

"He has been no more loyal to you than the rest of us! You condemn us, accuse us of manipulating you, when he has done no better!"

"Then I forgive him."

"What does your forgiveness mean to us?" Auberon bellowed, pounding one of his fists on the table. "_Nothing_! You expect us to show deference toward you when you show so much favoritism to others? Not once have you listened to us!" he said, making a motion with his hand to include Winifred, Griselda and Marlena in his comment. "You listen to Voltaire and Christ, and you yield to Wincott and Karbelnikoff, and all the while we are forgotten, only to be accused of treason when you are incapable of leading this country. If we have a traitor in our midst, it is because of your negligence."

Yuuri felt Wolfram tense beside him, and held tightly to his hand to prevent him from coming to his defense prematurely.

"You have the nerve to threaten us, to question our allegiance to the kingdom, when _you_ returned from Isidore without a treaty!" Auberon continued. "You allowed Lyron to make a fool of you, of all of us, and you failed to acquire an agreement to end hostilities between us!"

"Nonetheless," Murata spoke again, no less calm than usual, "King Lyron has begun removing his men from our lands."

"Because he intends to do battle against Cimaron! And then what? What do you think he intends to do once he's won, as he's sure to?"

"I can't pretend to know what Lyron is thinking."

"Your Eminence," Winifred began after a bitter chuckle of disbelief, "any fool could assume that once Lyron has conquered Cimaron, he will return to his pursuits against us."

Yuuri was startled when Wolfram pulled his hand out of his grasp, and almost lost track of the conversation in his surprise. He peered at Wolfram out of the corner of his eye and saw that he'd gone back to twisting the ring around his finger, tense and discomfited.

"Considering how unpredictable Lyron has been thus far," Murata patiently responded, "it would be unwise for us to presume too much. If what you speak does indeed come to pass, we will solve that problem when we get there. For now, we should focus on the present."

"There have been no further attacks since winter began," Julius declared. He kept his eyes away from Wolfgang and Wolfram as he spoke, as if he did not wish for his hatred of them to affect the competency with which he saw to his duties. "All evidence suggests that Lyron intends to cease hostilities with us despite the lack of a formal agreement. We can therefore imagine that His Majesty's visit to Isidore did some good to our situation. If Lyron begins to see us as a significant opponent, then he may hesitate to engage in another war against us."

Wolfram spun his ring faster and shifted in his chair.

"You have been blinded by His Majesty's idealism," Marlena accused with a haughty sniff. "You can't expect us to believe that Lyron is intimidated by us when he has the larger army."

"It isn't the size of his army that would matter if he were to conduct a formal war within our borders," Adalbert corrected her, earning a sneer for his efforts. "His army has no magic. As long as we were to fight in our own lands, we would have the upper hand."

"Isidore's use of esoteric stones is minimal," Julius added with a nod. "The Black Knights use them more for defensive purposes, but that means of defense can be overcome. Moreover, they do not have as notable a supply of the stones as Svelera, nor has any of their trade agreements allowed for additional importation."

"We have been successful so far because Isidore and Cimaron partnered in no more than a cursory manner," Gwendal said. "Belar allows Lyron passage through Cimaron, but they do not fight the same battle."

"Belar isn't the sort to allow a man like Lyron to take credit for an achievement he has been eying since he took the throne," Adalbert agreed. "If the Demon Kingdom is to be overtaken, he'll want to do it himself."

"That won't matter when Lyron conquers Cimaron!" Auberon insisted, green eyes flashing. "He'll have expanded his territory to our borders! He'll no longer need Belar's permission or support! Once he's proclaimed himself king of Cimaron, he'll absorb Belar's army into his own! Do you not realize how severely we'll be outnumbered?"

"You continue to overlook our magic," Gunter joined the discussion, looking quite studious with a pair of glasses perched on his nose. "Lyron can no longer underestimate us when he's seen proof of our power."

"His Majesty transformed within Isidore and forced them to accept what they have so far ignored," Gwendal elaborated further. "We proved ourselves to be capable. He cannot continue to see us as the weak nation he previously expected us to be."

"You think because His Majesty exerted his power in Isidore means we've won?" Auberon wondered, glaring at them acidly. "The only thing His Majesty proved is that he can be easily manipulated, and by the simplest means! Target the prince and he reacts as any other man threatened with the loss of his whore!"

The reaction to Auberon's comment was swift and varied. Yuuri intended to question and reprimand him right away, but he could not speak before Wolfram launched himself from his chair. Yuuri expected Wolfram would have clambered over the desk in his rage if Yuuri had not stood to restrain him. Gwendal rose from his chair to block his path, and Conrad and Wolfgang stepped away from the wall, coming closer to the table. Auberon sneered at Wolfram's attempt, while the others looked on with either surprise or contempt.

"Say that again!" Wolfram almost screamed, red in the face while his fever-glassy eyes blazed. "Say that again and let everyone hear you support everything Lyron's ever said about me!"

"Wolfram, calm down," Yuuri tried, struggling to hold him back, but Wolfram didn't seem to be listening.

Auberon, enraged by the implication, stood to his feet. "What do you mean to suggest?" he asked, voice deceptively quiet.

"That _you're_ the traitor! All you and Lyron have ever done is make me out to be a whore!"

"That is absurd!" Winifred shouted, rising to Auberon's defense. "Lord von Bielefeld, a traitor?"

"Wolfram," Wolfgang tried, cautiously approaching the desk. "You can't mean what you say."

"Of course I mean it!" Wolfram spat. "You've seen the way he's treated me! The way they all have!"

Wolfgang couldn't argue against that. He wasn't often at the castle, but Yuuri knew that Wolfgang was well aware of Auberon's distaste for his son.

"Brother," he said, turning to Auberon instead, "you've gone too far. You accepted Wolfram as your nephew, you accepted his marriage to His Majesty, and you accepted him as your prince. Your remarks breach the loyalty you pledged to him."

"I pledged no loyalty to _him_!" Auberon swore, pointing a finger at Wolfram again. "I may have granted him the family name, and I may have supported his marriage, but that does not mean he has earned my allegiance. He is a Bielefeld because you asked that he be a Bielefeld, and he is a prince now because we needed a declaration to be signed!"

"He is still your Prince Consort!"

"He is a failed Prince Consort! His behavior has been poor and his actions against Cimaron and Isidore ineffective! It was not until His Majesty returned and began to implement changes that we saw any sign of success!"

"He is your blood!" Wolfgang persisted. He did not raise his voice to match Auberon's bellows, but he spoke in such a way that Yuuri knew he was displeased.

"He is Cecilie's blood! Cecilie, who failed as he has!" Auberon snarled in disgust. "All these years you've been blinded by her and the bastard son she bore you!"

"I am not a bastard!" Wolfram shouted again and struggled harder against Yuuri's hold.

"You might as well be," Griselda muttered.

Wolfram's rage was insurmountable. Yuuri was grateful when Conrart came over to offer his assistance in restraining him. Even then, Wolfram struggled against them, jabbing at Yuuri with his elbows and clawing at the arms that held him back. Yuuri was even more thankful for the barrier of fabric between his skin and Wolfram's wild hands.

"Get out!" Wolfram roared. "Get out you fat, greedy old woman!"

"Wolfram," Yuuri wrapped both arms tight around him to keep him in place. "That's enough, Wolfram, please."

He couldn't say he was all that surprised by Wolfram's reaction, though the strength of his anger and Wolfram's failure to contain it came as a shock to him. Wolfram knew better than to cause a scene like this in the office. Wolfram might not always have the best control over his emotions, and he might not have the best relationship with their aristocratic subjects, but he should at least have enough restraint to prevent an outburst like this.

Yuuri didn't blame him. He didn't like the way the Aristocrats treated him either, but there were better ways of dealing with it, and Wolfram's method was not one of them. Yuuri had never seen him react so heatedly before, and this was not the first time someone had referred to him by such a derogatory term. Yuuri wondered if there was more fueling Wolfram's fire, if Auberon's comment had triggered something that Wolfram had been trying to suppress.

"You thankless harlot!" Griselda shot back, making no effort to censure herself. She stood to her feet as well, joining Auberon and Winifred. "You dare to insult me!"

"_You_ dare to insult _me_! I am the Prince Consort!"

"You see how he behaves," Auberon continued to speak to his brother. "You see how highly he thinks of himself, yet he ignores us and neglects his subjects!"

"You insult me!" Wolfram said. "You call me a whore and a bastard, when _you're_ the one neglecting our people and defying your king!"

"Wolfram, that's enough," Gwendal said in a low voice. He didn't sound as if he was angered by Wolfram's outburst, but he would surely want to curtail it as soon as possible.

"I demand an annulment!" Auberon suddenly barked. "I will no longer accept him as my prince."

"Brother…" Wolfgang tried, but he was cut off.

"An annulment!" Griselda shrieked in agreement. "His Majesty never intended to marry him! He would not have without our influence!"

"An annulment would be nearly impossible at this point!" Gunter intervened.

"Why? Because His Majesty has taken the bitch to his bed?"

"Because the Great One is not present to consent!"

"We consented to the marriage in the place of the Great One," Marlena pointed out. She had so far remained in her seat, but it was obvious which side she supported. "Why can we not decide upon the issue of an annulment as well?"

"All in favor!" Griselda persisted, her fleshy face as red as Wolfram's.

The office, which had been deadly silent no more than fifteen minutes ago, was now bursting with dueling voices. Auberon, Winifred, Griselda and Marlena shouted their derision and demanded to have their opinions heard, while Gwendal and Gunter countered and defied them. Mikhail, Odel, and Stoffel watched in amazement as the meeting dissolved around them, and Julius seemed incapable of deciding which side he should take. Adalbert remained at the door with his arms crossed, pinning the dissenting four with a bitter frown, while Murata sat, his hands still twined, letting the madness surround him.

Yuuri struggled to keep Wolfram at bay, all the while battling against his own anger. He didn't like the insults any more than Wolfram did. The only reason he hadn't reacted to them yet was because Wolfram hadn't given him the chance. If Wolfram hadn't been so quick to defend himself, Yuuri would have gladly put the Aristocrats in their place – or at least he would have attempted to. Instead, he'd been too concerned with preventing Wolfram from doing something drastic to worry about what the Aristocrats were saying.

It became impossible to ignore with the scene currently taking place in his office. It was difficult for him to make out much of what was being said, but there were words that managed to be heard clearly through the din – 'annulment,' 'traitor,' 'bastard,' and 'whore' were but a few of them. Each one increased the irritation he was already feeling, until he, too, was fit to burst.

He'd had enough of this. This was more than he could tolerate.

"_Enough_!"

The office grew suddenly quiet again. The Aristocrats ceased their bickering – at least temporarily – and Wolfram stopped struggling to break free. Yuuri refused to let him go even when he was no longer moving, staring around the room with a frown on his face, more disappointed now than he'd been when the meeting began.

"That's enough," he said when he had their attention.

Auberon looked as if he would have argued, but he held his tongue. Griselda and Winifred bristled, and Marlena refused to look at anyone. Gwendal and Gunter, at least, responded a little more favorably; they were the only ones to slowly lower themselves back into their seats.

"There isn't going to be an annulment," Yuuri declared with a note of finality in his voice. "I may have married Wolfram because you all insisted, but I won't let you tear us apart. We won't be controlled by you anymore."

"Your Majesty, you-" Auberon attempted to speak, but Yuuri cut him off.

"I said 'that's enough.' I've heard all I care to hear. I didn't call this meeting for you to debate my marriage. Wolfram is my husband, my consort, and my heir. You agreed to it, and now you'll have to live with it. If you can't do that, then you have my permission to return to your territories, but don't expect to be invited back."

His threat was met with an assortment of infuriated expressions.

"If I hear any of you insult Wolfram like that again, I'll remove you from power. Don't think I won't," he said when they looked as if he couldn't possibly mean what he said. "Try me. I promise you won't like it. I've had to deal with all of you for the last year, and I haven't been very impressed. If I didn't think it was necessary to keep you in place for a while longer, I'd remove you right now."

Wolfram had yet to retake his seat, but he seemed to settle down as Yuuri came to his defense. He relaxed slightly in Yuuri's hold and took a step to the side, staying out of his way but moving no closer to the Aristocrats. He turned his head so he wouldn't have to look at them, and Yuuri – wanting him to know that he had his support – grabbed his hand and held it tight.

"I want the traitor found," he said, knowing he was merely repeating what he'd told them months ago, but he hoped his determination got through to them this time. "If none of you can do that, then I'll replace you with people who can."

Auberon snorted quietly.

"Now get out," Yuuri commanded, pleased that his voice had remained strong. "All of you."

Slowly, his office grew less populated. Marlena was the first to leave, standing stiffly from her seat and turning on her heel to flounce out the door, ignoring Adalbert along the way. Winifred and Griselda were quick to follow her, shooting a final glare at Yuuri before disappearing.

Auberon remained in front of his chair for a few moments longer, shifting his narrowed eyes between Yuuri and Wolfram, before looking to Wolfgang. When he saw that his brother was not going to speak for him, Auberon clenched his hands into fists and stomped away, sneering one last time over his shoulder. Mikhail, Odel and Stoffel followed quietly, exiting with quick but respectful bows.

Julius was the last to go. He spared Wolfram a cold glance which Wolfram did not return, and met Wolfgang with his usual look of hatred, but he bowed to Yuuri all the same and swept from the room without a single complaint.

The door shut behind him and Yuuri was left with what had become his core group of advisers.

He sighed, his anger fading away now that he was no longer faced with the cause of it, leaving him feeling crestfallen instead. "Sorry," he apologized, though he wasn't sure who he was speaking to. "I didn't mean for things to turn out like that."

"It was unavoidable, Your Majesty," Gwendal replied. He sounded unconcerned, but Yuuri was sure he was already beginning to prepare himself for whatever problems Yuuri's dismissal would cause.

"You did very well regardless, Your Majesty," Gunter said, appearing both worried by the outcome of the meeting, and proud that Yuuri had maintained authority. "You've improved since last year. It's clear the Aristocrats are growing wary of questioning you."

"I'm not too sure that's such a good thing," Yuuri announced despondently.

"The less they question you, the more control you'll have," Murata informed him, finally pulling his hands apart and leaning back against his chair, his posture easing to something a bit more languorous.

"I don't want control over them."

"Don't you?" Murata asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I want them to stop bickering all the time."

Wolfgang frowned. He hadn't moved from the spot he'd taken as he'd argued against his brother, standing between the desk and the table. He looked as displeased by recent events as Yuuri felt.

"I apologize if I exacerbated the issue," he said.

Yuuri shook his head at him. "No, it's okay. Thank you for stepping in."

He was glad that Wolfram had more people to speak up for him than just his brothers. Yuuri thought it must have been difficult for Wolfgang to side against Auberon and wondered if there would be any consequences because of it. He wished Wolfram would take more notice of his father's efforts to bridge the broken bonds between them. Wolfgang had defended him valiantly, yet Wolfram gave no sign of thanks. Yuuri wouldn't be surprised if Wolfram hadn't even processed his father's intervention.

He turned to his husband now that the office had cleared of hostilities. Wolfram had his back to him, his fists clenched at his sides and his head lowered to glare at the ground. Yuuri stepped up behind him and placed his hands on his arms, squeezing lightly before turning Wolfram around to face him. He received no protest, but Wolfram did not lift his head, and Yuuri had to place a hand beneath his chin to turn Wolfram's eyes up to him.

They were still glassy, but they burned with a heated fury. Yuuri looked directly into them. He understood Wolfram's anger – being insulted by men and women who were supposed to be as loyal to him as they were to Yuuri was certainly a blow to his pride and a great source of frustration. Wolfram had been through too much in the last year to be expected to sit and allow the Aristocrats to say what they had. He'd already nearly been broken, and just when Yuuri had grown confident that he'd gotten all the pieces back together, Wolfram had to bear this sort of humiliation.

Even so, there was more in Wolfram's gaze than that, something Yuuri couldn't interpret as easily. Behind the anger, Yuuri thought he saw shame, but he didn't know what could have caused it.

"I'm not a whore," Wolfram said determinedly. He shook ever so slightly, a mixture of rage and the fever that paled his skin but flushed his cheeks.

"You're not," Yuuri agreed, lightly stroking Wolfram's arms. "Of course you're not. I won't let them say things like that again. I'll be tougher on them, I swear."

If he hadn't been so lenient with them before, they wouldn't have grown so obstinate. If he had taken his job more seriously, if he'd been their king instead of trying to gain their friendship, they wouldn't have any choice but to show them both the respect they deserved.

"I'm sorry, Wolfram. This is my fault."

Wolfram neither agreed nor disagreed. He looked up at Yuuri with a desperation that was becoming much too familiar. "I'm not a whore," he said again, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"I know. I know you're not."

Wolfram didn't respond. He swayed slightly and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Yuuri's collar bone. His hair tickled the portion of Yuuri's neck that wasn't covered by the collar of his jacket. Yuuri gently placed his chin on top of Wolfram's head, sliding his arms behind his back to hold him loosely.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri apologized to him again, feeling responsible for the altercation even if he hadn't been the one to start it. When Wolfram continued to give no response, Yuuri tried his husband's method of calming him down. He lowered his head so that his mouth was by Wolfram's ear, and whispered so the others couldn't hear.

"Sweetheart…"

Wolfram tensed for just a moment, then relaxed completely. He didn't collapse, but leaned heavily against Yuuri all the same. The heat from his fever permeated through the layers of his clothing. Yuuri felt him shiver faintly at another chill.

"You should go back to bed," Yuuri suggested.

This comment was enough to have Wolfram raising his head. He shook it slowly, defiant.

"No," he said, as determined as he could. "No, I'll stay with you."

Yuuri smiled at his stubborn persistence. "I'm done for the day, so I'll come with you. That's alright, isn't it?" he asked both Gwendal and Gunter.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Gunter said. "You need your rest as well."

"We'll return to work tomorrow morning," Gwendal agreed. He stood from his chair without any sign that he was aggravated but Yuuri's failure to immediately see to the work that was waiting for him. "I'll see that everything is arranged for you. There are a few documents you'll need to sign."

"Right," Yuuri said.

If Gwendal hadn't been going easy on him lately, he would have been surprised by the indulgent behavior of his Chief Adviser. He didn't have the opportunity for further response either way. Before he could even begin ushering Wolfram toward the door, a knock resounded from the other side.

"Come in!" he called, and then sighed. He hoped it wasn't one of the Aristocrats come back after formulating another argument against him.

He was partially right. Julius had returned, but he was accompanied by GegenHuber. They both bowed reverently in greeting after stepping into the room.

"Your Majesty," Julius began, ignoring Wolfgang and Wolfram in favor of speaking with Yuuri. "I apologize for disturbing you so soon after you dismissed us, but Lord Griesela brings urgent news."

"What is it?" Yuuri asked, fearing it had something to do with Lyron.

He was wrong this time, but not by much.

"We received a dispatch not even moments ago that His Majesty Belar has succumbed to his illness and died," GegenHuber revealed.

The reaction around the room was unanimous – shock mixed with a good bit of hope.

"Furthermore, a letter has just now come to the castle," Julius continued the explanation. He held out a folded sheet of parchment with neatly curling human script decorating the front.

'_His Majesty King Yuuri the First of the Great Demon Kingdom'_

The words had an undesirable effect on Yuuri. They were too similar to how Lyron addressed his messages not to cause some discomfort. His stomach turned, and the darkness that always seemed to be lingering in the back of his mind these days shifted restlessly.

Yuuri swallowed before taking the letter from Julius, hesitant to open it when the last letter he'd received had turned out to be less welcoming than he'd initially thought. He and Wolfram looked at it together, his husband remaining against him as Yuuri opened it with shaky hands. He didn't recognize the writing and was anxious that the text within held nothing but bad news.

It seemed his successive failures had begun to have a negative effect on his optimism.

'_King Yuuri,_

_It is with the deepest sadness and regret that I write to inform you of the death of my father His Majesty Belar, King of Big Cimaron. As you and he were well acquainted, I think it only appropriate that you be informed of the circumstances behind his death. His Majesty the King suffered a recurring illness beginning in October of last year and finally succumbed to it and departed this world on the eighth of May. He was buried with all the respects befitting a king._

_Since the passing of my father, the throne has been assumed by His Majesty King Varick the First, my lord and elder brother. It is his desire for a summit to occur between our two nations, in the hopes that we may be able to agree upon an alliance. It is my understanding that my father did not always act in such a way as to inspire cooperation between our people, but I can assure you that both Varick and myself look forward to discussing a possible treaty in order to better our relations with the Great Demon Kingdom. There is nothing more imperative to the success of His Majesty's sovereignty than to extend the hand of friendship toward those our father encountered with oppression and alienation._

_To prove our intentions virtuous and true, His Majesty has thusly released the Kingdom of Francia from our control. We have informed His Majesty King Antoine and hope that he will return from exile in Cavalcade to resume his supremacy. Furthermore, we are currently in the midst of negotiations with Lady Flynn of Caloria, whom our father has kept as a captive but who has now been released and accepted by myself and His Majesty as an honored guest._

_We would be deeply honored if you were to agree to meet with us at your convenience, and we look forward to your reply._

_Signed,_

_Prince Arthur Clarence, Heir Apparent'_

"The new king of Cimaron wants to meet with me," Yuuri shared, staring at the letter in amazement.

He read through it again to make sure he wasn't imagining things, completely astounded by the prospect of forming a friendly alliance with Big Cimaron, formerly his greatest enemy.

"They must know Lyron plans to act against them," Julius anticipated. "They cannot afford to be hostile toward us now when we could prove a great ally."

Yuuri nodded and passed the letter to Murata, who read through it quickly before handing it off to Gwendal and Gunter. Conrad, Wolfgang and Adalbert drew closer to read it with them.

Yuuri locked eyes with Wolfram, who mirrored his expression of wonder.

He didn't know what to think. Hearing that Belar was dead had enough of an impact on him without adding a possible alliance on top of it. Belar had been his enemy since he'd inherited the throne of the Great Demon Kingdom. Yuuri had lost count of the number of times they'd been in opposition. Belar was quite a bit older than him, but somehow Yuuri had thought that he would always be there, waiting for his chance to conquer the world. Now that would never be, and a new face sat on the throne of Big Cimaron.

Belar was dead, and suddenly the world seemed much different.

"What should we do?" Yuuri asked, looking to Gwendal for the answer.

"This is a great opportunity," Conrad said instead, reaching the end of the letter. "It seems hard to believe that things would unfold so favorably for us. Wasn't it questionable as to whether Varick would even assume the throne after his father?"

Gwendal nodded, still looking down at the letter in his hand. "Forming an alliance with us would be enormously beneficial to him. By gaining such a powerful ally, Varick will consolidate his own power and prove himself an effective monarch to his people."

"And with our support," Gunter continued, "he'll gain recognition from his neighboring countries."

"It would benefit us as well," Adalbert stated, earning a nod from Wolfgang. "An alliance with Cimaron would lessen our vulnerability to Isidore."

"What if Varick expects us to join him in battle against Lyron?" Julius asked.

"We'll deal with that issue as it comes," Gwendal decided, handing the letter back to Yuuri.

Yuuri took it from him and looked it over again. "So we'll meet with them?" he wondered, wanting confirmation.

"Your Majesty, we cannot allow an opportunity like this to pass us by," Gwendal responded. Yuuri glanced up at him and thought his Chief Adviser looked quite pleased. "Lyron will not have expected this," Gwendal concluded.

Yuuri felt a surge of hope wash through him. He smiled, hardly able to believe their good fortune. "Let's do it then," he said.

He looked at Wolfram to stare into his eyes again, smiling brightly.

Perhaps this was a sign that all the bad things that had happened before could finally be put behind them. After all, if they could befriend Cimaron, they could do anything.

* * *

Wolfram scrubbed harshly at his skin. He stood in the midst of the Demon King's private bath, holding a bar of floral scented soap and a damp wash cloth, scouring his flesh in abrasive strokes. Yuuri had always preferred his baths hot, a temperature Wolfram had taken some time to adapt to, but he could appreciate it now when he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of uncleanliness. He welcomed the way the high degree and rough cloth reddened his skin. It made him feel raw, unsoiled, as if with the rising suds he was able to wash away the touch of another. He was able to make himself pure again.

"You're sure taking your time," Yuuri said. His voice was leisurely enough, but he sounded concerned all the same.

"I feel dirty," Wolfram replied, rubbing the cloth over his chest.

"We didn't really do all that much today," Yuuri observed confusedly.

Wolfram shook his head at him. "It doesn't matter. I still feel dirty."

Yuuri sighed but didn't bother to argue the point.

Wolfram could see his husband leaning back against the side of the small pool that was his bath, arms hanging over the edge as he patiently waited. Yuuri had finished ten minutes ago, after a quick dunk in the water to wash the sweat from his hair and the daily grime from his skin, and had been watching Wolfram ever since. He'd offered to help him once, but Wolfram had declined the gesture. He felt better washing himself. After all, only he knew how and where to wash to cleanse away the shame and disgust that occasionally rose to prickle his flesh.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Yuuri asked after a few more moments.

"Of course," Wolfram said. "I feel fine. Gisela said I'm completely healed."

His wounds had closed and his fever had broken. It was as if his injuries had never been, though the proof remained as scars on his otherwise flawless skin.

"That's not what I meant."

Wolfram stopped scrubbing to rinse the suds off, pleased when his skin showed dark pink from the urgent scouring. "Then what did you mean?"

"Well, I mean," Yuuri began, though it didn't seem as if he were very capable of explaining his current thoughts. "You're just… really into your bath, I guess."

"I told you, I feel dirty," Wolfram said again. He grabbed a bottle of shampoo and poured some into his hands, scrubbing it through his hair and into his scalp, as if by doing so he could remove the feel of a foreign hand upon it.

Whatever response Yuuri might have made was muffled when Wolfram dipped beneath the water to wash the suds out, surfacing again only when he was satisfied and his lungs began to burn from lack of air.

That was a mistake. The strain in his chest reminded him of choking and gasping as an unwanted appendage contaminated his mouth with filth.

He shivered and cringed, and took another bottle of cleanser to work into his hair.

Yuuri came up behind him moments later, pulling at his scrubbing hands and disentangling them from his dripping tresses, replacing them with the slow motion of his gentle, massaging fingers.

"You're going to rip your hair out, Sweetheart," Yuuri warned him.

Wolfram went rigid at the first touch, but relaxed when he heard the term of endearment. He said nothing, allowing Yuuri to soothe his heart and mind with the tender movement of his hands.

"Tilt your head back," his husband said once he was done, pressing at one of Wolfram's shoulders to have him lowering himself a bit more into the water.

Wolfram did as he was told, letting the water rise up his neck and lifting his chin to send his head falling backwards. Fingers continued to card through his hair, working it beneath the water and rinsing the cleanser from it without Wolfram having to duck under a second time. Wolfram smiled serenely, his memories momentarily stifled by Yuuri's kindness. It was like being healed. With one touch of his hand Yuuri could force all of his sins away, as if they'd never happened, as if Wolfram were still the same confident boy he'd married on a cool September day nearly a year ago.

Six weeks removed from Isidore, and Wolfram was still haunted by what he'd done. Lyron's encouraging voice filled his every dream, and the shame he'd brought to himself, his husband, and his kingdom continuously preoccupied his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to move away from it, to convince himself that he'd done it for the sake of good, to accept the crime and put it behind him, he couldn't simply forget. The memories returned to overpower him in his solitude, and amplified his guilty conscience in Yuuri's presence.

Only with Yuuri close to him, touching him, holding him, or desiring to be held, could Wolfram focus on something other than those moments in Lyron's office. Only when he was with Yuuri as his husband and not merely his king, in these moments of gentleness and fondness, hand-in-hand or skin-to-skin, could Wolfram remember love over terror and dishonor. Looking at Yuuri reminded him of his failure, but feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his arms and the tender roughness of his palms reminded him that he'd accepted dishonor for a reason.

That reason smiled at him adoringly, as if there were not a single person in the universe he would rather be with. That reason looked back at him with dark, sincere eyes, so full of passion Wolfram could almost believe it was love.

Yuuri was calm. The Aristocrats were causing trouble, bickering with one another and arguing with Yuuri so heatedly there were outbursts almost daily, but Yuuri was handling it in stride. Preparations were being made to welcome the new king of Big Cimaron, and Yuuri was constantly being interrupted in the middle of his work to see that the arrangements were going accordingly, but the mere thought of developing friendly relations with their former enemy was enough to sustain him through the stress.

The Black Knights had not been seen within their lands for weeks. So far it seemed as if Lyron were abiding by their secret agreement. As long as that continued, and Yuuri was granted the reprieve he had been in desperate need of since the night of their wedding and the destruction of Fane, Wolfram would be satisfied that although he didn't like it, he'd made the right choice.

Yuuri was calm and hopeful, and seeing the light back in his eyes and the wide, buoyant smile back on his face made Wolfram's sacrifice worth it a hundred times over.

"Alright," Yuuri said, sliding his hands out of Wolfram's hair to place them under his arms and hoist him back up. "Let's get out."

Wolfram nodded and followed Yuuri out of the bath, careful not to trip up the steps or slip on the wet tiled floor. He took the large towel that Yuuri handed to him, patting and rubbing at his skin with less vigor than he had while in the water, soaking up the droplets that trailed down his chest and legs. He found a smaller towel to ruffle though his hair, wrapping the blond strands up in it and binding it atop his head to dry.

He retrieved his discarded robe once he was done – fluffy and bright blue, and trimmed with black embroidery. Wolfram slipped his arms into the long sleeves and wrapped it around himself, shielding his body from view, tying the sash so that it would not come undone on its own. Sufficiently covered, he slid his feet into a pair of slippers and turned to rejoin his husband.

Yuuri was watching him again, clothed in a dark robe similar to Wolfram's, but worn loosely, with more ease, and his feet were bare. His gaze was blithe but intent, focusing on the portions of Wolfram's skin that were not concealed by his robe – his hands, his shins, his neck and face. Wolfram smiled at him indulgently and reached out to take his hand, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze.

Together they left the bath and drifted down the hall to their room. The guards gave their necessary bows and salutes, which Yuuri returned with a grateful smile but which Wolfram attempted to ignore. He could feel their men staring at him as they went, scanning him over and letting their eyes bore into him as they never would have allowed themselves to do when he was among them as a soldier. Now he was their prince, and they looked at him with mingled admiration and interest, and – in the case of some – desire.

He could sense it easier now than he had before, could feel a cold shiver in his soul every time someone other than Yuuri looked at him with longing. He'd known it before, that due to the beauty he'd inherited from his mother certain men and women were bound to find him attractive, and that not all of them would endeavor to hide it. He'd noticed it a few times in the past – a man's eye would linger just a little too long, or a lady would smile and flutter her lashes in an attempt to appear becoming. He'd grown used to ignoring it, to overlooking the glances and pretending as if he did not hear the whispered comments, but now it was not so simple.

In the span of a single morning, Lyron had taught him to see lust everywhere. He saw it in his uncle's hunger for power, in Lord von Mannheim's desire for revenge on his father, in his brother's ceaseless work for the kingdom's prosperity, and in the gazes of his own soldiers. Lust surrounded him, closed him into its hot, heady sphere. It left him open and vulnerable to its intoxicating power, and drew him closer to Yuuri for safety.

Wolfram felt exposed in just his robe and slippers, craving the privacy to be found once they entered the Demon King's bed chamber and shut the door behind them.

He let out a breath when they arrived and told himself to relax. He had not seen Lyron for more than a month, and all the injuries he'd sustained during their time in Isidore had healed. As far as he was concerned, he would never be seeing Lyron again, or even setting foot in his cold, dreary kingdom. Yet he was allowing Lyron to affect him even now, draining his confidence and turning him into a man afraid of shadows in the eyes of others, shades of the emotions he'd seen in Lyron's eyes.

He released Yuuri's hand with the intention of preparing himself for bed, but an arm wrapped around his waist from behind and held him still. Wolfram would have struggled against it if it weren't for the familiar chest against his back, and the kind hand that rose to untangle the towel from his drying hair. Yuuri's lips were gentle against the side of his face, warm and only slightly dry on his temple, trailing with a light caress down to his ear.

Wolfram leaned back into his embrace, placing a hand atop Yuuri's where it rested on his side, lifting the other to reach behind his husband and settle it on Yuuri's neck, fingering the short hairs at his nape. He could feel Yuuri's heartbeat against his back – strong and steady – and the warm breath from his nose as Yuuri kissed the shell of his ear. Wolfram sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, letting himself be absorbed by Yuuri's goodness and light. The darkness was but a memory in his arms, light as air and just as fleeting.

"I love you," Wolfram whispered.

It seemed so long since he'd last said it; Wolfram worried that he might not say it as often as he should. He thought it imperative to say it now, to remind Yuuri of the depth of his feelings, though Yuuri should already know.

Instead of acknowledging Wolfram's statement in his customary manner, Yuuri responded with, "I want you."

Wolfram shivered, but it was a good feeling – expectant in his anticipation instead of apprehensive. He turned in Yuuri's arms and opened his eyes to look at him, noting the heat in Yuuri's gaze and the attentiveness of his grasp. Wolfram's hands lowered to the sash of Yuuri's black robe, carefully untying the loose knot so that it fell open, before rising again to push the fabric off his shoulders and down his arms. The robe fluttered to the floor to pool around their feet, and Yuuri was bare and exposed before him.

He looked at Yuuri, taking a miniscule step back to scan his body with his eyes. It was both familiar to him now, yet still somewhat foreign. Yuuri's body was not his own – dark hair, tan skin, muscles that surpassed Wolfram's lean and limber frame. Yuuri was what Wolfram had always aspired to become, but what he had so far been incapable of attaining. Often it inspired a sense of jealously within him, though he knew the failure was no one's fault but his own. He had stopped training, had given up his soldier's life to devote his every moment to being Yuuri's consort, allowing Yuuri the freedom to do what he wanted, to train and play baseball and gain the confidence they'd all wanted for him.

In their privacy, Wolfram could appreciate Yuuri's growth instead of deriding his own. On the one hand, it was disappointing; the changes in Yuuri's physical state made his confrontation with old age seem all the more eminent. On the other hand, there was an attractive quality to Yuuri's physique, in his chest, arms, and thighs that stirred Wolfram's desire.

Yuuri the boy had been charming, sweet and pleasantly good looking, with broad smiles and sparkling, joyful eyes. Yuuri the man was different, but no less alluring; dark, strong, and teeming with unsatisfied energy, his mannerisms and demeanor beckoned Wolfram to him, enticing him to share with Yuuri his docility and vulnerability.

"I want you, too," he replied, his voice choked with yearning.

He had never wanted anyone as passionately as he wanted Yuuri, and he knew he never would.

Gently, Yuuri guided him back, leading him to their large bed. Their lips met when Wolfram's back bumped into the edge of the mattress. Yuuri's mouth was hungry against his own, chaste and subdued for only a few moments before his tongue was delving inside, teasing Wolfram's and tempting it to play. Wolfram moaned softly, hanging in Yuuri's embrace and draping his arms around him.

He was on his back on the bed before he even realized it, his robe loosened and Yuuri's hands exploring the secret places of his body. Wolfram gasped and arched against him, his vision growing hazy with rapture and need. He saw Yuuri above him, bold in a way he rarely was otherwise, his image outlined by the canopy. The bedding had been changed, gossamer sheaves of white fabric in place of the heavy winter hangings, and blankets and sheets in matching white and blue. It was like being amongst the clouds, far away where no one could harm them.

He should find it distasteful, Wolfram told himself, lying there with another man above him, allowing himself to be exposed, passive to his husband's arduous appetite. Wolfram was not a meek or accommodating man, and he refused to be made into a servile subject; he wanted fairness and equality between them, balanced in their roles as King and Prince Consort. Yet in bed he always found himself on his back, as much a slave to Yuuri's passions as he was to his own, and he never complained. It should surprise him, but it didn't. He never questioned it, only craved it more.

His robe was removed, slowly peeled away from his willing body, baring pale skin to the flickering candlelight. Black eyes regarded him, sweeping from his face down to his legs and thighs and in-between, where Wolfram could not hide his need; it stood proudly amidst them, waiting. Hands stroked his feet, up his shins, the roughness of calloused palms tickling his thighs before trailing back down. They hooked behind his knees and lifted them, gently pulling them apart.

Lips descended to ghost over his skin, starting first at his toes then following the path that had been made by Yuuri's hands. Wolfram shivered when the mouth reached his thighs, momentarily overcome by an unexpected sense of revulsion – remembering Lyron, and the unspeakable act he'd convinced himself had been a necessity – but it was gone as soon as Yuuri's lips rose to his hip and further up his stomach and chest. Their eyes met and Wolfram smiled encouragingly, reaching out to grasp at Yuuri, pulling him close and welcoming the weight that fell upon him.

Their bodies melded together, mouth-to-mouth, chest-to-chest, and hip-to-hip. The air grew hot around them, filled with the sounds of their kisses and the stroking of hands over skin. Sweat broke out along Wolfram's brow, his wet hair tangled around his head, dampening the pillow Yuuri had rested him against. The tan flesh beneath his palms became slick and he pressed his fingers harder into it, delighting in the moans his ministrations generated, deep and low in his husband's throat.

Yuuri's fingers slipped behind him, prodding lightly before probing inside. They stretched him, prepared him for the intrusion of his body, and Wolfram threw his head back and gasped. Once, the sensation of Yuuri's fingers inside of him had been uncomfortable and strange; his instincts had fought against it, unaccustomed and unsure of the invasion. Gradually that had changed as they both experimented and explored, discovering ways in which to satisfy one another, and now the fingers that pressed within him evoked an intense feeling of pleasure.

He moaned in disapproval when Yuuri removed his hand and rose above him, taking his warmth and the promise of gratification with him. Wolfram opened his eyes to entreat him, desirous and impatient, but Yuuri shushed him before he could fuss.

"Turn over," Yuuri said.

Wolfram met him with a look of confusion but did as he was told, sluggishly turning himself from his back onto his stomach. Yuuri's lips returned as soon as Wolfram was comfortable, mouthing the side of his neck and nibbling on one of his shoulders, while a pair of steady hands slid down Wolfram's sides and grabbed onto his hips, lifting them up and into the air. Wolfram gasped again and keened in excitement. He should have been embarrassed by the wanton movement of his hips, nudging eagerly back into Yuuri's pelvis, but the humiliation never came. All thoughts of modesty had left him.

Their bodies joined in moments that seemed to span eons. Wolfram opened to Yuuri and gave him all the private parts of himself he'd always kept carefully guarded, baring his soul to him amongst grasping hands and thrusting hips. Every inch of his skin burned where they connected, tingling with pleasure while his heart beat fiercely and his mind was inundated with sparks of bliss. He could think of no one and nothing else but Yuuri – Yuuri's hands seizing his hips, directing his movements; Yuuri's lips on his back, nipping at the knobs of his spine and nuzzling his shoulder; Yuuri's tongue marking a path up his neck, suckling on his ear; Yuuri's arousal cleaving him in two, sending fire through his blood.

Wolfram's fingers clawed at the bed-sheets, rending and twisting the fabric. His back bowed, curving more with each push of Yuuri's pelvis. He could feel his pleasure mounting, rising higher and higher until it was fit to burst, struggling against containment. He fought against it, clenched his teeth and strained to hold back just a little longer. He didn't want it to end – not yet, not so soon; please, not yet – but it engulfed him and bore him away on a wave of ecstasy.

He came with a cry that ripped from his throat, his back arched and head thrown back, hands desperately grasping the blankets in the hopes of supporting himself. His body tensed and remained suspended and bent above the mattress, then fell forward, crumpling in a heap of sweaty skin, his mouth open as he gasped for air.

He felt Yuuri pause, allowing him a few moments to recover. Soon the warm, broad hands returned, guiding him around, on his back again. Wolfram's legs felt weak and shaky, trembling from the aftershocks of his release, but he lifted them and propped them up against the mattress at Yuuri's insistence. His husband soothed him with slow, scorching kisses as their hips aligned and Wolfram's body was once again invaded. The initial push was easier this time; there was no resistance, and Yuuri was quick to fall into a steady rhythm.

Wolfram opened his eyes to watch him, lying still and satiated on the bed. He took in the expressions on Yuuri's face, the strain in his body, and listened to the sounds each move elicited. Yuuri's eyes had grown darker, the pupils barely distinguishable; their shape shifted, caught between their usual roundness and the narrower slits of the Demon King. Wolfram hesitated only a moment at the sight of them, then pushed himself up to claim Yuuri's lips in another kiss, deep and passionate – accepting.

Yuuri's body finally stilled with a groan and Wolfram felt warmth within him, bathing his insides with sultry heat. He caught his husband when Yuuri collapsed, circling his arms around him and bringing Yuuri's head to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of Yuuri's heart and the expansion of his chest as he breathed.

Their room grew quiet. The candles flickered and surrounded them with dim light. Wolfram closed his eyes and basked in Yuuri's closeness.

He should find it distasteful, he told himself again, lying beneath Yuuri – ravished and utterly spent, Yuuri's essences leaking out of him – but he didn't. He felt beautiful. He felt loved and in love, desired, cherished, and acknowledged by the man whose heart he'd spent five years struggling to claim. He felt whole, complete.

Wolfram felt Yuuri laughing before he heard him, quiet chuckles that began as tremors through his body and worked their way out of his throat. Confused, Wolfram tilted his head to look at him and saw Yuuri's gaze upon him, eyes bright and sparkling with mirth, and mouth stretched into a large, amused grin.

"What?" Wolfram asked.

At first, Yuuri shook his head, but at an imploring look he consented to answer. "I just think it's funny."

"You think _what_ is funny?"

"That you always say 'please.'"

Yuuri grinned at him, wildly entertained. Wolfram could not mime him. He felt his heart still and his insides grow cold, his eyes widening at the initial shock before narrowing in vexation. The memory of Lyron's voice filled his mind, darkly amused and leering.

"_One day I hope I shall be able to hear you beg for it just as passionately."_

Wolfram shoved Yuuri away before he could stop himself, curling his hands into fists and pounding them against Yuuri's chest. He twisted away, turning onto his side and showing Yuuri his back, grabbing one of the pillows to bury his face into it, as if blinding himself could erase the image of Lyron's smug face.

As always, he hadn't even realized the many supplications had made their way out of his mouth.

"Hey," Yuuri said. His husband didn't struggle against him, but Wolfram caught his expression of confusion before his vision was obstructed by the pillow. "Wolfram, what's wrong? I didn't mean anything bad by it!"

"Shut up," Wolfram told him, though his voice came out muffled. He wouldn't have been surprised if Yuuri was unable to understand what he said.

"Wolf, stop it. I wasn't making fun of you."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"You said it was funny!"

"Okay, sorry," Yuuri apologized. Wolfram felt Yuuri's hands grasp his arms, trying to pry them off the pillow and pull him back around. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Leave me alone."

"Come on, Wolfram. Don't do this. I said I didn't mean it." Yuuri sighed, yanking the pillow out of Wolfram's grasp and tossing it aside. "I like listening to you when you get like that. At least I know I'm doing it right. I know you're enjoying it."

Wolfram's face warmed. He glared at Yuuri when his husband took him by the shoulder again and forced him over, but he couldn't make himself feel angry for very long. His anger wasn't meant for Yuuri anyway. Yes, he was a bit perturbed that he'd dared to mention something like that, but he was more mortified than anything else.

He never meant to beg. It was demeaning, lowering himself like that, knowing that he enjoyed such a defiling act enough to plead for more. Somehow it always happened, despite him being unaware of it. He may have been able to overlook it if Yuuri was the only one who knew about it, but his solicitations were known now to more people than just his husband. Lyron knew, and that thought disgusted Wolfram more than any other.

"Hey," Yuuri said again. Wolfram allowed Yuuri to lean over him, and was slightly soothed by the hand that stroked his hair. "What is it? I said I was sorry."

Wolfram almost tried to hide his face from him again, but told himself it would do him no good. Yuuri had already seen his misery. "Nothing," he lied instead.

"Don't say it's nothing. I know something's bothering you," Yuuri insisted, propping himself up on his elbow. "Are you still upset about what happened with the Aristocrats?"

Wolfram's first instinct was to deny it. He caught himself before he could shake his head, forcing himself to remain motionless until he could think on it further. He remembered the meeting a month prior and his blood boiled, immediately kindling his frustration. The Aristocrats, while not the cause of his sudden foul mood this evening, had certainly been the source of much contemplation in recent weeks.

"Yes," he finally replied. It was only half a lie this time. He was upset by it, but hadn't been thinking about it until Yuuri mentioned it.

Yuuri looked at him sadly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "I'll take care of it," he promised, gazing down at him earnestly. "They won't say things like that again if I can help it."

"What's the point?" Wolfram asked venomously. "They'll whisper it all behind our backs anyway. Let them say it to our faces if they want."

"No," Yuuri refused, determined. "I won't let them say it at all. I want them to respect me, Wolf," he said, "and part of that is respecting you. I chose to marry you."

"You didn't."

"Oh, come on. Don't start that."

"But you didn't," Wolfram insisted, his bitterness continuing to grow. "You made _me_ choose."

"Obviously I knew what you were going to say."

"Did you?" Wolfram eyed him sharply. He wasn't in the mood to discuss their strained engagement and the circumstances that had led to their marriage, but he had to admit it was a fair distraction.

Yuuri frowned at his challenging attitude. "I knew that everyone expected me to say 'yes,' and I hoped you would make things easier and help me feel better about it by agreeing," he explained.

"And how do you feel about the decision now?" Wolfram wondered.

"Are you serious?" Yuuri asked. He appeared as if he were about to laugh and held it back admirably. Wolfram was thankful for it. "Do you really have to ask that after what we just did?"

Wolfram would have liked to have remained stubborn, but it was difficult. He couldn't deny that Yuuri saw some benefit in their relationship, nor could he pretend not to notice how much Yuuri had grown to desire him. It was his eyes, in his voice, in the touch of his hand.

"I don't think you should go to any of the meetings with the Aristocrats anymore," Yuuri said when Wolfram made no response.

It took a moment for Wolfram's brain to shift gears, and for him to process what Yuuri had said, and when he did he gaped at his husband in consternation. "Are you going to ban me from your office? They're the ones at fault, Yuuri!"

"Listen to me before you start arguing," Yuuri requested, taking hold of his chin to capture his full attention and force his cooperation. "I didn't say anything about banning you. I just don't think it's a good idea for you to sit in on meetings with the Aristocrats. You antagonize one another too much."

"Why don't you banish them before accusing me?"

"Whoever said I was accusing you?"

"You seem to think it's my fault!"

"I never said that!" Yuuri insisted. "Listen to me first instead of jumping to conclusions, will you?"

Wolfram frowned but didn't open his mouth to speak again.

Yuuri raised an eyebrow as if he expected him to counter with something, speaking again only when he seemed satisfied that Wolfram wouldn't interrupt. "I know you don't like to be left out of things, and I'm not trying to punish you when the Aristocrats are the ones causing the majority of the problems."

"Then stop forcing me away."

"I'm not trying to force you away!" Yuuri argued. "How many times do I have to ask you to listen?"

Wolfram curbed his temper at the tone of frustration in his husband's voice. It was almost enough to make him feel guilty, but his displeasure prevented more than a grumbled apology. "Sorry," he said, and then quieted.

Again, Yuuri waited to see if he would add anything else, and continued when he didn't. "I don't want you to feel like you're the one being punished," he repeated, "so I talked to Gwendal and Gunter earlier today and I've decided to put you in charge of preparations for welcoming our guests from Cimaron."

Wolfram felt his eyebrows rise with interest, but tried not to appear too intrigued. "Have you?"

Yuuri nodded. "It's been a bit stressful dealing with the Aristocrats _and_ the arrangements, so I thought if we split the workload between us it would be easier for the both of us," he said. "This way you won't have to worry about the Aristocrats, and I'll know that things will be taken care of as far as Cimaron is concerned. You know how to put on a proper reception better than I do. I know you'll make them feel welcome."

"So you won't have anything to do with the preparations at all?"

"Well, I'll still want to hear about what you're doing, but I thought I'd let you handle it."

"On my own?"

"Er…" Yuuri began to falter. He looked hesitant, like he was unsure how Wolfram was taking the proposition. "You can have whoever you want to help you. Gunter or your mother," he suggested. "I'm sure they'll both have ideas."

"But I'll have the authority to see that it's all done to my specifications?"

"Yeah," his husband replied slowly. "That's the idea."

Wolfram took a few moments to consider the idea. It was a bit disappointing to think that Yuuri didn't trust him enough to allow him to continue to sit in on meetings with the Aristocrats, but he couldn't pretend not to understand. It had been difficult to control himself the last time; he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it any better if they were going to shout insults at him again. While he didn't see the Aristocrats as a necessity, he knew Yuuri was hesitant to do away with them, and he could be forced to agree that stripping them of their powers at present would be more stressful than beneficial.

On the other hand, he was quite flattered to have Yuuri entrust him with the preparations for the meetings between themselves and the new king of Cimaron. It showed a great deal of trust on Yuuri's part for him to hand over such a task, especially with the grave amount of importance Yuuri was placing on the possible alliance. Wolfram knew that if they were fortunate they would be taking one step closer to accomplishing Yuuri's hopes of peace and understanding between the humans and the demon tribe.

Taking charge of the arrangements would be a grave responsibility. Not only would he be working to impress their visitors from Cimaron, but he would be striving to gain Yuuri's appreciation as well. Yuuri depended on him to handle it, and nothing would make Wolfram happier than to see the look of relief and gratitude on Yuuri's face when he succeeded.

"Alright," he finally conceded.

Yuuri's face brightened in an instant. His eyes grew larger with excitement as he smiled. "Really?" he asked.

"Yes," Wolfram replied. "But I'm warning you, I'm going to have you fitted for a new uniform, and I don't want to hear you complain."

His husband winced. "Don't I have enough new uniforms already?"

"Another one wouldn't hurt. I won't have you reusing uniforms for such an important occasion. Whether or not Varick is like Belar, you'll still want to impress him."

"Right," Yuuri said, but it didn't sound as if he agreed. "I guess you'll want a new uniform, too."

"Of course."

"Okay," Yuuri allowed with a sigh. "I'll have to see about adjusting your budget."

Wolfram smiled, his previous mood nearly forgotten as his mind was inundated with ideas for new uniforms and possible methods of entertainment. "I promise you won't be disappointed," he said.

Yuuri paused, staring blankly at him for a few moments, before his expression warmed and his smile returned. "I know," he said.

They came together again, limbs entangled and lips pressed gently together. Wolfram relaxed, sliding his arms around his husband to hold him close. Yuuri shifted to lie at his side when they broke apart, but kept his head on Wolfram's chest, his ear pressed against Wolfram heart, his breath fluttering across Wolfram's skin.

Wolfram closed his eyes and savored Yuuri's weight and warmth. In his satisfaction, he could ignore the memory of the Aristocrats' accusations. Auberon called him a bastard and a whore, but in Yuuri's presence he felt like neither of those things, even if his uncle was right.

He'd been a bastard since birth despite his parents' efforts on the contrary, and Lyron had made him into a whore that morning in Isidore, in the meeting room with Conrart and Louis at the door. He had been brought into the world base and impure, conceived out of wedlock by his lonely, heartbroken mother and his arrogant, adulterous father. He had allowed Lyron to taint him further, to befoul him with his darkness and vice.

But more than any of that, he was Yuuri's – completely, eternally – and at the moment that was all that counted.

* * *

The throne room had rarely been used for over a hundred years. Yuuri had been told that Lady Celi abhorred the place, with its long red carpet and high stone columns, and the unforgiving, solitary chair upon the dais. She'd entered and taken her seat at the front of the room only by force, flanked domineeringly by her older brother, and occasionally by her eldest son. It was an austere room with a decadently formal atmosphere, once the central meeting place of the Great One, his Double Black adviser, and his legendary compatriots.

It had suffered from further disuse during Yuuri's reign. He remembered being within it only once to greet their allies as they arrived for the first joint meeting of the Great Demon Kingdom Alliance, but he had stood to see his guests in and perform the appropriate greetings. His chair had remained empty. Not once had he made use of the throne. It and the rest of the room had been left to collect dust, aired out from time to time by the maids but never utilized.

He therefore felt quite uncomfortable sitting there now, and struggled to maintain his composure as the whispers and chattering of his court filled the long hall. The Aristocrats lined both sides of the carpet – Julius, Marlena, Griselda, Auberon and Winifred on one side, and Gwendal, Gunter, Mikhail, Odel and Stoffel on the other. Behind them, the lesser nobility gathered in clusters, elegantly dressed and whispering behind jeweled hands or decorative fans. The room was abuzz with excitement as they waited to set their eyes on the new king of Big Cimaron.

Yuuri sat as straight as he could, his hands nervously clutching the armrests of his chair. He could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck and longed to tug and loosen the collar at his throat, but staid the compulsion in an attempt to gain a bit of refinement. His clothes felt heavy and stifling on his frame – a silver jacket instead of the normal black, with black lining and black pants, and polished black boots to match. It was all very grand, stiff royal attire he'd been pressured to don by the husband who knew better, and his advisers that dreamed of an impressive king. Under the coronet of silver laurel on his head, he felt the weight of responsibility and realized – more fully now than ever before – the significance of the royal post he had inherited.

He swallowed down the lump of unease that clogged his throat and summoned the fortitude to slow his pounding heart.

The dais itself had been modified to accommodate the current monarchy. He did not sit alone, but with his family. Beside him on the right, Wolfram appeared more calm and dignified than Yuuri felt, dressed in black and silver with a short cape attached to the epaulets on his shoulders. His crown glimmered on his head, the diadem of sapphires, diamonds and pearls Yuuri had placed there on their wedding day. Wolfram smiled benignly, pleased with himself and the preparations he had made, and he ignored the presence of the Aristocrats, who spared him a few supercilious glances but otherwise made no comment. They, too, understood the importance of what would hopefully come to pass over the next few days, and Yuuri was confident that – for now, at least – they would be on their best behavior.

Lady Celi had a chair on Wolfram's other side. While her time as Queen had been spent at war against Cimaron, since her abdication she had developed quite a good rapport with members of the Cimaronian nobility, most of whom she'd had the opportunity to meet during her free-love travels – Stefan van Buren especially, her on-again, off-again beau. She was recognizable on both accounts, and still had a respectable amount of influence within the Great Demon Kingdom, both as a daughter of the Spitzweg family and as the mother of the Prince Consort and current heir to the throne.

Behind them, the nanny stood with Merry in her arms, a rosy cheeked bundle of drool and blue clothing. He babbled quietly, his large blue eyes looking out over the crowded room, while Katherine smiled at him and gently petted him. Julius von Mannheim's daughter, Lady Elise von Mannheim, stood beside her. Lady Elise paid no attention to Merry, but frowned instead as she attempted to thwart Katherine's daughter in her attempts to circle around the chairs and chatter to Wolfram.

"Look at my dress!" the little girl said, eager and cheerful. "Look at my dress, Prince Wolf!"

"Brigitta," Lady Elise began sternly, "you must not bother His Majesty. Stand still and quiet down. A lady must always mind her manners."

"You're much too strict, Lady von Mannheim," Wolfram commented. He did not turn to look at her, but smiled all the same.

Yuuri thought Wolfram's expression looked wicked, as if he enjoyed contradicting the lady in front her charge. He doubted Wolfram and Lady Elise had a very good relationship. Considering their fathers were bitter enemies, he was sure they shared many of the same antagonistic feelings. Yuuri had to wonder why Wolfram had even hired Elise to help Katherine with Merry and Alexei, and serve as Brigitta's governess. He supposed, in the end, it was Wolfram's way of making an effort of peace with those he was at odds with. Whether or not Julius supported Wolfram, he at least had to be grateful that his only daughter had received a position within the royal household.

Lady Elise's frown deepened behind Wolfram's back. "I was under the impression that I was hired to instruct Brigitta in the proper behavior of a lady of the court," she said peevishly.

"Yes, that _is_ why you were hired," was Wolfram's easy reply, "but you could be a little less rigid. Can you please be patient, Brigitta?" he asked the little girl, speaking to her gently. "I promise I'll let you show me your dress as soon as we're done here. I'm sure it's lovely."

Brigitta beamed behind their chairs, enthusiastically bobbing her head before allowing Lady Elise to pull her back. She scampered to stand by Alexei, who stood quietly with Katherine and Lady Elise, polite and well-behaved and occasionally looking to make sure Gwendal hadn't left the room.

In a seat on Yuuri's left sat Greta. She looked beautiful in a gown of purple silk, though the neckline was a bit too low for Yuuri's liking. Most likely her sense of fashion had been influenced by her grandmother; Yuuri wished Greta would have taken after Anissina in that respect instead. Her brown hair was bound up in a fashionable style, and she had a tiara of amethysts perched on top. She smiled at Yuuri encouragingly when he looked at her, excited by the prospect of meeting a potentially handsome foreign prince.

"Behave yourself," Yuuri feigned a warning. He had no doubt that she would act every bit the princess she was expected to be, as she always did.

"You're the one who needs to learn to behave," she countered, teasingly wagging one of her fingers at him.

Yuuri frowned at the playful dig and glanced passed her to see Murata – dressed in black and gold and looking refined – sitting comfortably in the final chair, patient and thoughtful as they waited for their guests to arrive. Conrad was close by as well, standing at attention with his sword at his hip.

There wasn't anything for them to do but sit there and listen to the unintelligible whispers occurring around them. Yuuri shifted in his seat, bouncing one of his legs up and down, anxious. Wolfram's hand grasped his on the armrest, warm but for the cool band of metal around his ring finger. He squeezed and Yuuri's leg stilled, but he was far from calm.

It hadn't been a mistake to hand Wolfram the responsibility of preparing for the arrival of the King of Cimaron. With everything Yuuri was expected to do on a daily basis, making such arrangements himself would have been a disaster. Even now, after much coaching, he never knew the proper way in which to greet someone, nor was he capable of planning a state dinner in the company of the entire court, or managing a range of entertainment with which to amuse their guests. His way of greeting someone was to smile enthusiastically and barrage them with informal small-talk, and his idea of entertainment was restricted to a game of baseball.

Wolfram, on the other hand, had grown up at court and knew its various functions. He lived and breathed formality and tradition. Over the last few weeks Yuuri had watched him put together a magnificent welcome for their foreign guests. Unfortunately, the initial greeting was to be as stately and traditional as Yuuri could expect from his cultured husband, requiring the use of the throne room and the presence of the entire royal court – aristocracy and nobility alike.

Try as he might, Yuuri could not feel comfortable. He was more accustomed to people staring at him now than he'd been before, and his anxiety was less than the level it had risen to on his wedding day, but his position in the room made him feel cornered. As the center of attention, there was no escape for him. He was forced to be the focal point of anyone who walked down the aisle. There was nowhere for him to hide, and he didn't feel sure enough in himself to put on the sort of image he knew his court was expecting.

The last time he'd been in a throne room had been in Isidore, but he had been one of the audience then, looking up at Lyron on the dais. As much as Yuuri disliked the man, he had to admit that out of all the royal sovereigns he'd met over the last five years, Lyron was what he imagined a true king should be like. Confident and cunning, Lyron had sat in his golden chair as if the world belonged to him. He had a dauntless demeanor Yuuri was unable to emulate and had not seen in anyone else.

The King of Cavalcade was old and feeble, hanging on to his life by a thread as his granddaughter studied to inherit the throne and his oldest living son represented him on diplomatic missions. Antoine Jean-Pierre, recently reinstated King of Francia, was even less impressive; his heart was in the right place, and Yuuri could appreciate his youth and excitability, but even with the support and guidance of a strong, loyal woman like Laila, Antoine was easily intimidated by others. If he had to choose between himself, Antoine, and the current king of Cavalcade, Yuuri had to admit that he found his own reign the be the most stable of the three, even with all the problems he'd recently been experiencing.

He could thank Wolfram for much of it. Their marriage had truly been a stabilizing factor within the government, despite the controversy Wolfram and the Aristocrats caused amongst one another. His advisers, too, had much to do with it; he was lucky to have men like Gwendal, Gunter, Conrad, Adalbert and Wolfgang on his side and at his back, and Murata – even with the disagreements they'd had a year ago – was irreplaceable.

Belar was the only other person Yuuri had ever been able to think of that fit the role of King as he'd always imagined it, as he read in his history books. Together, Lyron and Belar were the paragon of kingliness in his mind. Lyron had the self-assuredness and the resolve, and Belar had the tenacity and ambition. Sitting in his throne, apprehensive and uncomfortable, Yuuri wondered how he was ever supposed to compare.

He wondered, as well, what sort of man the new king of Cimaron would be.

Finally, there was movement by the door and a herald's voice cut through the noise of the gossiping crowd.

"His Majesty Varick, King of Big Cimaron, and His Highness Prince Arthur!"

Wolfgang and Adalbert escorted the two young men and a third figure, a female, into the room. Wolfram's father wore his dress uniform, his hair pulled neatly back and his eye patch covering his empty left socket. Adalbert was similarly clothed, a long, dark overcoat and his usual spurred boots. His small smirk was smug, as his presence earned him a variety of contemptible looks as he made his way down the carpet.

Yuuri breathed in deeply as he set his eyes on Varick and Arthur for the first time. They were easy to tell apart despite being brothers. Varick was dressed in purple, as Yuuri had grown to expect from human kings. Varick had the same color hair his father had, but wore it shorter, waves of dirty blond that stopped at his jawline instead of traveling to his shoulders. He did not appear as domineering as Belar. If anything he looked a bit uncomfortable, and Yuuri was able to relax when he noticed the anxiety in the other king's hazel eyes. Varick quickly peered around at the court, almost skittish in his glances, before staring up at Yuuri.

Staring back, Yuuri was unsure what to think. Varick had his father's coloring, but not his demeanor. He looked positively peaceful when compared to the crazed expressions and insane laughter of Belar. Varick seemed a bit younger than he'd expected – mid-twenties at the oldest – and he was not extremely tall. Yuuri thought Varick might be shorter than he was, and not as broad in the shoulders. However, while Yuuri was clean-shaven, Varick sported a meager growth of facial hair, perhaps as a means of appearing older, more distinguished. He had a thin moustache and a small patch of hair beneath his lower lip.

Arthur walked slightly behind his brother at Varick's right hand, tall and lanky but no less elegantly dressed. The green of his outfit gave him a fresh, cheerful look, as did the feathered flat cap upon his short, curly brown hair. He strode down the center carpet with a slight bounce to his step, his lips forming a wide smile that reached into his gray eyes.

Yuuri liked him immediately and relaxed further. As the king, Varick was the one it was most imperative that he impress, but seeing Arthur's animated countenance relieved him. After all, it had been Arthur who had first established contact with them, and Arthur, Yuuri was sure, who would be the most vocal proponent for a treaty. It was an encouraging sign, and one that he welcomed gratefully.

He was further galvanized by the guest that had gone unannounced. Joining Varick and Arthur was a woman Yuuri had not expected to see, but whom he knew very well.

"Lady Flynn!" he gasped. He stood from his chair in surprise, amazed by the sight of her after so long.

She smiled up at him, her attire more feminine than he remembered – a long, cream colored gown, and a diamond necklace around her throat. Her pale blue hair was mostly hidden within a net of pearls attached to a half-moon headdress, much like what Lyron's queen had worn; only her bangs were visible. The last he'd heard of Flynn, she'd been in captivity, only recently released by Belar's sons. Seeing her in the flesh, unharmed and healthy, green eyes sparkling, calmed him in a way nothing else did.

Here was Flynn, his trusted friend, looking delighted in the company of the men with which he longed to form an alliance.

He couldn't stop himself. He descended the steps of the dais and pulled her into his arms to hug her. Wolfram hissed in disapproval behind him, but Yuuri's joy could not be contained. He and Flynn embraced as old friends – as royal siblings, a king and a female feudal overlord. He laughed and spun her, pulling away and holding her at arm's length, looking her over for the first time in nearly four years.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

She accompanied him in his laughter, her face bright with happiness. "Varick and Arthur asked me to join them. I was so excited to be able to see you again! I wanted to write and tell you, but Arthur thought it best to leave it as a surprise."

Yuuri looked from her to the two men. Varick still seemed somewhat uneasy, his expression sober, while Arthur grinned wide enough for the both of them.

Lady Flynn stepped in to make the introductions. "Varick, Arthur, this is Yuuri. Yuuri, this is the new king and crown prince of Cimaron. I've told them so much about you," she said. Through his happiness, Yuuri noted how familiarly she spoke to them, referring to them by their given names.

"It's great to finally meet you!" Yuuri said. His instincts told him to reach out and shake their hands, but as he knew such forms of greeting were uncommon in this world, he held the impulse back.

"We've been looking forward to our visit," Arthur replied with a bow. He had an easy, youthful voice to match his pleasing looks.

"And we've looked forward to having you!" Yuuri continued. His smile grew when Wolfram, Greta, and Lady Celi stepped down from the dais. Murata followed them, but lingered behind. "This is my husband, Wolfram, our daughter, Greta, and my mother-in-law, Lady Celi," he introduced them. "Our son Merriel is just behind there, with his nanny."

"Your Majesty," Arthur bowed to Wolfram as well, and then turned to Greta. His eyes twinkled as he took her hand and lifted it to his mouth for a brief kiss. "Princess, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he greeted her charmingly.

Greta tittered softly, flattered, and Yuuri thought he saw her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink.

Lady Flynn and Lady Celi embraced one another as equals, two women rulers in a world dominated by men, before Arthur turned his charms on Lady Celi as well – though not, Yuuri observed, with as much interest in his glittering gray eyes as he'd had for Greta. Wolfram stood frowning at Yuuri's side, perhaps displeased that the welcome ceremony he'd planned had taken such an informal turn.

"I remember you," Varick finally spoke. His voice was deeper than Arthur's and not as energized, but still more encouraging than Belar's deranged drawl had been. Though he looked at Wolfram with interest, his gaze was tame – far different and much less disquieting than Lyron's lusty stares. "You fought for Caloria in the tournament four years ago, did you not?" he asked.

Wolfram seemed a bit taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Yes, I did."

"I saw you from the royal box. I was watching with my father. You fought first, and quite valiantly, if I remember correctly. Were you not affected by the esoteric stones within the arena?"

"I was," Wolfram admitted, "but it was nothing I couldn't handle. A soldier must always strive to overcome his handicaps."

"And now you are Prince Consort," Varick observed. He looked between Yuuri and Wolfram with intrigue. "Marriage between men is prohibited in Cimaron, but after seeing you in battle I cannot help but think there is no one more suitable to be the spouse of the Demon King."

Wolfram flushed faintly at the compliment while half of the Aristocrats shared looks of disgust.

"King Yuuri," Varick began again, looking at and speaking to him with the utmost respect. It was almost astounding to witness such behavior when Yuuri had grown so used to humans responding to him with revulsion. "I wonder if we might commence our negotiations."

Yuuri blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of Varick's comment. "Now?" he inquired. It wasn't common to begin discussions so soon, and Yuuri knew Wolfram had not planned to begin the deliberations for an alliance until the following day.

Sure enough, Wolfram's pleasure at Varick's consideration faded as his plans began to unravel. "Wouldn't you like to rest?" he tried. "You've had a long journey, and dinner is still a few hours away."

"I understand that I may be infringing upon your plans," Varick replied politely, "and I apologize for the abruptness of my request, but I must insist."

"Yuuri," Flynn tried when they did not reply right away, "please. He's been anxious to speak with you."

"O-Okay," Yuuri agreed. He looked to Gwendal to make sure he was making the right decision. His Chief Adviser appeared as if his curiosity had been aroused. "We can meet in my office. You're welcome to bring your advisers."

"I would prefer to speak with you without the influence of our advisers," Varick said. The same urgent expression still adorned his face. "I have had the escorts you provided show my current advisers to the rooms you had prepared for them. For the duration of our negotiations, I will be accompanied only by Lady Flynn and my younger brother. If we could discuss matters in a more private setting, perhaps with your husband and daughter present?" he suggested.

"R-Right," Yuuri acknowledged, confused by the insistence with which Varick requested a more intimate meeting. He looked to his husband to see that Wolfram was no less bewildered by the lack of formality, and gave his hand a quick squeeze in comfort.

Yuuri's mind began to work rapidly as he alternated their previous plans to accommodate Varick's request. "If you'll give me just a minute," he said, and left the others by the dais to quickly approach Gwendal. "We're going to be meeting now and Varick doesn't want a lot of people there," Yuuri told him, lowering his voice so the others wouldn't hear. He didn't want the rest of the nobles to go gossiping prematurely.

Gwendal exchanged a look with Gunter. "Did he explain why?"

"No, but I don't think he trusts his advisers all that much. He doesn't seem to want them to have anything to do with the meetings."

"Perhaps they are not as supportive of him as he would like," Gunter hypothesized, serious in his scrutiny of the king of Cimaron.

"Either way, I've told him we'll talk now," Yuuri said, "and I don't think he wants you guys there either."

Gwendal's brows lowered over slightly narrowed eyes. "Does he think to outwit you on his own?"

"I really don't think it's anything like that. Relax, Gwen. I can handle this."

Oddly enough, Yuuri felt his confidence growing. Spontaneous decisions and improvisation were more his forte than rigidly structured formal meetings.

"Can you take my jacket?" he asked, quickly undoing the buttons and pulling it off. He handed it to Gunter before removing his crown as well. "And this damned thing. Put it back in the vault. I can't wear it anymore."

"Yes, of course, Your Majesty."

"And, Gwen, can you have the cooks put something together real quick? I think we'll go to the private dining room. It's bright and comfortable in there, and people are usually more relaxed when they have something in their stomachs. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just sandwiches or desserts should be good."

"Are you sure this is wise, Your Majesty?" Gwendal replied.

Yuuri smiled at him reassuringly. "Yeah, trust me on this one," he said. When Gwendal didn't look appeased, Yuuri added, "I'll have Conrad stand outside the door if you're so worried."

He returned to his guests after rolling up the sleeves of his white undershirt. Wolfram gaped at him, scandalized by his disheveled, casual appearance, and glared openly. '_What do you think you're doing?'_ Wolfram's eyes asked, but Yuuri merely smiled at him. He was already much more comfortable without the stifling jacket and heavy crown. He felt guilty for ruining Wolfram's plans when he'd been the one to give his husband the responsibility, but if he was going to have an informal meeting with Varick, he was going to do it his way.

"Come on," he said, and motioned them away. "We'll go somewhere else."

The whispering that had consumed the court since they first gathered in the throne room grew in pitch as Yuuri directed his guests out of it. Curious looks and disappointed frowns followed them down the long red carpet, but Yuuri was too restless to hear what Varick had to say to him to worry about the opinions of his wealthier subjects. Their small group was followed by some as they left the room, though the others remained at a distance, bewildered by their sudden departure.

He led Varick, Arthur and Lady Flynn to the private dining room, where he often had meals with his family and close advisers. Wolfram and Greta accompanied him, Wolfram looking unsettled by the change of pace and Greta seeming excited by the inclusion. Conrad came with them as well, but once they arrived, Yuuri did not allow him to enter and made him stand by the door instead.

"I'll call you if I need anything," he said in response to Conrad's worried expression.

His godfather looked as if he would argue, but eventually nodded and followed Yuuri's instructions.

The dining room was quiet and empty when they entered, vastly different in its silence from the throne room. The window curtains were open to a bright, sunny day, so it was not necessary to light the candles and torches. It was a large room, though not as expansive as the previous chamber, and the round table had only enough chairs to seat twenty people at the most. Yuuri motioned for Varick and the others to take their seats, lowering himself into a chair between Wolfram and Greta.

Two maids came out moments after they entered, setting goblets in front of each of them and pouring a generous amount of wine. Yuuri lifted his glass and swallowed a few gulps to further settle his nerves, while Arthur showed the maids an appreciative smile and Varick examined his surroundings. He looked toward Yuuri only when the maids had left. He inhaled deeply before speaking.

"I apologize for the secrecy," he said, "but I am new to the throne and uncertain of whom I should trust. I did not wish for our discussion to be overheard or influenced by corrupt individuals."

"I understand," Yuuri replied. "It took me a while to figure out who to trust, too. I was lucky and had good people beside me."

"You must know that I was hesitant to contact you," Varick informed him. He lifted his wine glass to try its scent, bringing it to his lips to sip only when he was satisfied. "My father never spoke kindly of you, and while he and I did not share an especially fond relationship, I have heard conflicting information regarding your deeds."

"You were around your father enough to see us at the tournament," Yuuri pointed out, before a sudden thought struck him. "You knew Conrad then, didn't you?"

"I knew _of_ him. I knew that he betrayed you and came to serve my father, but I never spoke to him. I observed him from a distance, and when he betrayed my father as well I regarded him as a traitor and a spy."

"But you're here now," Wolfram said. His expression had become suspicious, though his voice was not yet accusatory.

"Yes," Varick agreed. "When our father died, Arthur and I decided it would be for the best if we were to establish relations with the Demon Kingdom. I admit I did not initially approve of the idea, but Lady Flynn has led me to believe than you can be trusted."

"There isn't anything I want more than peace between humans and the demon tribe," Yuuri assured him. "I'm human myself."

"Yet you can use magic."

Yuuri did not respond. He remembered a similar comment from Lyron and worried that Varick might view him in the same way.

"I saw it for myself. You are human, yet you have demonic abilities. It is an intriguing combination, but dangerous should we find ourselves opposed to one another. I knew when I took the crown that I would have to tread carefully with you. You are not a man to be trifled with."

Yuuri still could not find anything to say, wary that he might arouse Varick's suspicions if he attempted to explain himself further.

"Yuuri has helped me in so many ways," Lady Flynn cut in gently. "He gave aid to Caloria when we were unable to offer him anything in return. He helped King Antoine, he saved the crown princess of Cavalcade, and he quelled the power of the Forbidden Boxes. Don't you remember?"

"Of course," Varick nodded as if they'd had this conversation before. "Lady Flynn has never failed to sing your praises, and I must admit much of what she has said has been largely convincing. Ultimately, I knew that I must contact you. Both Lady Flynn and Arthur gave me the same council, and I have come to accept that it is imperative for us to come to an agreement."

"I wanted to come to terms with your father," Yuuri said. "I tried to speak with him."

"Father was not an easy man to convince," Arthur declared.

"No, he was not," Varick agreed, "but I am not my father. I was born at the end of the last war between Cimaron and the Great Demon Kingdom. My elder brother was still alive then, and my father expected that _he_ would be the one to inherit the throne. But my brother died soon before you replaced Queen Cecilie. I knew that when it came time for me to take the throne, it would be necessary for me to make some changes. Our people were growing dissatisfied with my father. They are tired of war, but the nobles wish to continue my father's objectives."

"Is that why you don't trust your advisers?" Yuuri asked.

"It is indeed. Many of them did not wish for me to inherit the throne. They think me too soft. I admit I have an abhorrence for war, but in place of that lust for battle I have plans for extensive change within my country, change that would benefit my people and further solidify our place in the world. My nobles are old fashioned. Many of them served in the war and cannot think of the demon tribe as anything but our enemy. Some thought to prevent me from inheriting with the intention of putting Arthur in my place."

"I'm afraid their hopes for me were too high," Arthur said with an affable smile. "Varick is my brother and my king, and I believe wholeheartedly that he's on the right track."

For the first time, Varick showed a small, grateful smile. "Since it became apparent that my father was not long for this world, I began to prepare myself for the inevitability of his passing. Arthur and I have been working extensively since then, gaining as much support for our plans as we can. We began negotiations with Lady Flynn immediately. It was important to us not to continue to oppress the countries Father had subjugated, but to gain their support in friendship."

"I spoke with them about you," Lady Flynn said, beaming at Yuuri. "I knew that if I could convince them to seek you out, Cimaron would prosper and the world would benefit from it."

"We have freed Caloria," Varick continued. "Lady Flynn is free to return to her territory and resume control whenever she may wish to do so."

"And why haven't you?" Yuuri asked, remembering how devoted Lady Flynn had been to her late husband's dominion, how much she'd loved Caloria and its people.

"I will, and soon," Lady Flynn reassured him, "but first I wanted to complete our negotiations, and I wanted to help Varick formulate an alliance with you."

"Lady Flynn and I have come to a decision that will protect Caloria against future oppression under our neighboring countries as well as help to stabilize the new government currently rising in Cimaron."

"And what's that?" Yuuri wondered.

Lady Flynn smiled at Yuuri, and then turned a benevolent look on Varick. "We're to be married," she said.

Yuuri gawked at her while Wolfram stared, dumbfounded, and Greta squealed in delight. "M-Married?"

"I know it may come as a shock," Lady Flynn began, glancing back at him. "Don't mistake me. I loved my first husband. I still think of Norman every day, and I will never abandon his people, but I must consider Caloria's future, and to remain unmarried would be a detriment to my country."

"I have offered Caloria my acceptance and protection in exchange for Lady Flynn's hand," Varick continued to explain. "She will be Queen of Cimaron, but I will not ask her to remain there. She will have leave to travel between Cimaron and Caloria however often she sees fit. Should we have children, and we hope to, our first son will inherit the throne of Cimaron, and our second son _or_ our oldest living daughter will inherit Caloria."

"That's amazing," Yuuri said, awestruck. "That's wonderful!"

It might be nothing more than a political arrangement and therefore not what he would prefer for one of his dearest friends, but he could see the enormous benefits in it. His marriage to Wolfram had done a great deal of good for the Great Demon Kingdom, so he was sure Varick's rule would stabilize considerably once he had a Queen. Furthermore, Caloria would have a future independent of the surrounding countries, which was what Lady Flynn and her first husband had always wanted.

"But there remains a problem," Varick revealed.

"Isidore," Arthur said, and the mood around the table dimmed in an instant.

Varick nodded. "We know Lyron plans to declare war against us. I'm sure you are aware of it as well."

"He told me as much when we met with him," Yuuri agreed, frowning. "We tried to form a peace treaty, but he wanted us to support him in a war against you. I refused."

"That's a relief," Arthur replied. "I don't know what we would have done if we had both Isidore and the Great Demon Kingdom against us."

"I would never do that," Yuuri assured him. "I don't want another war. I won't have one."

"It is also my ambition to avoid war as much as possible," Varick said. "Presently, however, it is impossible for us to avoid a war with Isidore. Lyron began to mobilize his troops the moment my father died. But we _can_ avoid a war with you," he concluded, eying Yuuri seriously.

Yuuri returned the look, sincere in his determination. "I can't offer you men," he began. "I won't have my soldiers fight in another war, but I can offer you money and supplies."

Varick's hazel eyes widened slightly. "That is very generous. More than I expected."

"Lyron toyed with me," Yuuri explained. "He looked down on me and he made the mistake of harming my family. I won't let him do that to anyone else. If you and I can form an alliance in the process, then that's good for me."

"It's good for the both of us," Arthur affirmed.

Again, Varick nodded. "However, my people are unlikely to trust such an agreement without discernable proof that both of our families intend to see it through."

"And how can we convince them of that?" Yuuri asked, ready to undertake almost anything in order to prove himself and his intentions to the people of Big Cimaron.

"Through marriage," Varick replied.

Yuuri paused, blinking in confusion. "But you're going to be marrying Lady Flynn," he said slowly, hoping he hadn't missed anything.

"I am," Varick agreed.

"Then… who?"

"No," Wolfram suddenly broke in, rigid in the chair beside him. "Absolutely not," he said.

"Wolf," Yuuri was quick to soothe him, grabbing onto his hand. "At least let them explain first."

"They don't need to explain. I already know what they want. He wouldn't have had Greta join us if he didn't intend to make use of her."

Yuuri hesitated, looking from Wolfram to Varick. When the other king made no move to deny Wolfram's assumption Yuuri's eyes widened and he gaped again. He looked at his adopted daughter, who appeared both surprised and reflective.

"She's only fifteen," he said.

"She would be well provided for," Arthur assured him. "No harm would be brought to her. She's a human princess. She would be accepted by our people with little resistance, but she's also your daughter, so she would join us together as family as well. It's a perfect arrangement."

"For _you_!" Wolfram accused.

"For you as well," Varick countered. "Do you not see how the Great Demon Kingdom Alliance would benefit from our cooperation?"

"So you're saying you won't sign a treaty with us unless we give you our daughter?"

"That isn't what they're saying," Lady Flynn attempted to diffuse the situation.

"We do not plan on leaving here until a treaty is signed," Varick continued, "whether or not a betrothal is set between your daughter and my brother. The marriage would simply serve as a tangible representation of our agreement, a means for my people to see that we have every intention of upholding the peace we wish to establish."

"You?" Yuuri ogled, turning his eyes to Arthur. "Marry Greta?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Arthur nodded. His charming smile had faded, to be replaced with the earnest appeal of his gray eyes. "I swear she will be treated with the utmost respect."

"But that's crazy!" Yuuri exclaimed, unable to control himself. "She's only fifteen!"

"I'm almost an adult," Greta said. Her voice was quiet, contemplative, but there was a determination in it that was hard to miss.

Yuuri turned to look at her again, helpless. Beside him, Wolfram did the same.

He would never look at Greta and see her as anything but a little girl. She'd grown so much since they'd adopted her. She was a young woman now, with all a young woman's curves, and all a young woman's dreams. Yet she was still his daughter, still wide-eyed and excitable, the tomboy who'd played catch with him in the courtyard, the girl who'd delighted in silk ribbons and pretty dresses. Greta had only been with them for five years. He wasn't ready to let her go yet, to see her married, to give her away.

"Greta," he tried, but he didn't know what to say. Wolfram was similarly quiet, looking sad, distressed.

"Let me decide," Greta said, facing them determinedly. "Let me choose."

"You shouldn't throw your future away for something like that," Yuuri declared, noting out of the corner of his eye how Wolfram flinched. Yuuri squeezed his hand, apologetic. He hadn't meant to allude to their own relationship.

"I wouldn't be throwing my future away. I'd be making a new one for all of us."

"You don't understand how much of a responsibility it would be," Wolfram claimed. His voice sounded slightly strained, as if he were having a hard time remaining calm.

"I do," Greta asserted. "I've watched you, Wolfram. I've been with you this whole time, since you and Yuuri were engaged. I know what I'd be getting myself into."

"You don't," Wolfram persisted. "You have no idea."

"I understand the three of you will need some time to consider the proposal," Varick said, gaining their attention again, "but I hope you will come to share our views. There is much we wish to accomplish, and securing ties with you would be one step among many we hope to take. I am a young king," he declared.

Yuuri looked across the table at Varick, drawn in by his statement. The position Varick was in was one Yuuri could understand only too well.

"I am a young king in a young world, as are you," Varick said. "Within the next decade, most of the prominent countries within the Great Demon Kingdom Alliance will be ruled by those our age or younger than ourselves. I am twenty-five, and you are-"

"Nearly twenty," Yuuri offered.

"Twenty," Varick repeated with a nod. "Antoine of Francia is twenty-four, Lady Flynn twenty-nine, and Princess Beatrice of Cavalcade is only fourteen. I expect Small Cimaron will be a difficult opponent to convince to join our cause, as Small Cimaron and Big Cimaron have not been on the best of terms, but if we can accomplish it, King Saralegui will be on our side as well, and he is only nineteen.

"The tide is changing already," Varick indicated. "Lyron will be isolated, a middle aged king among youths, outdated and stuck in the past. Together, we can overpower him."

Yuuri could not pretend as if it were not a tempting notion. His visit to Isidore had left him with nothing but contempt for Lyron – for the way he thought, the way he ruled his people, the way he treated his enemies and goaded his allies, the superior manner in which he viewed himself, and the sickening lust he showed for Wolfram. He would love nothing more than to vanquish him, to prove himself to him, and show the world who was the better king.

He had practiced peace and tolerance since arriving in this world, and for the most part it had served him well. He had acquired many allies, but he had gained just as many enemies; his family had been targeted, and he had been taunted – labeled weak, incapable. It had been Lyron more than anyone or anything else that had begun to show him that his pacifism and idealism could only get him so far. If he wanted to accomplish his goals, the effort he would have to exert would need to be greater, his passion stronger, and his steps bolder.

An alliance with Cimaron would help him realize that dream. He and Varick could help each other, empower each other, and show Lyron just what a young, peace-loving king could do.

"Together, we can change the world."

* * *

Thin fingers traced lines on his abdomen, soft pads that circled his nipples, teasing, and skimmed across his chest. The chiming of quiet giggles resonated in his ears while a pair of warm lips pressed against his temple, his cheek, his jaw, beckoning for his attention.

Lyron's eyes remained on the portrait across the room, whose subject still pervaded his thoughts.

Wolfram has slipped away from him, and slid further from his grasp with every change of the moon. He'd had him, for a moment, and what's more he'd had his consent – reluctant as it might have been. He had trapped Wolfram with the boy's own feelings, with his devotion to that ineffectual simpleton he called his husband, and he had only begun to experience all the pleasures Wolfram's youth and beauty could provide. Yet Wolfram had escaped, pulled from harm by the Demon King, and swept away before Lyron could venture to have him again.

It was frustrating, dismaying, to be hindered by someone such as Yuuri, an imbecile of a man who didn't even realize what he had – power, money, youth, and a spouse who could set the soul aflame with a single glance of those entrancing green eyes. Yuuri had shown his power, made his threats, but he had not followed through, had allowed himself to be influenced and controlled by those very same eyes, instead of taking control for himself. Until he did, Lyron knew that Yuuri would be no match for him. Then, he would have Wolfram, exclusively, and he would show him how a true king ruled.

Yuuri was too transparent, too predictable, and it would be his downfall.

"Your Majesty," a simpering voice breathed into his ear.

Lyron tore his eyes away from Wolfram's portrait and focused instead on the other occupant in his bed.

The boy was young, no older than fifteen, a nobleman's son he'd enticed at dinner that evening, luring him back to his room for a frolic in bed. It had not been poor sport, but not quite satisfying. The boy was too enthusiastic, too willing. Lyron wanted more resistance, to overcome a hesitant mind and an unwilling heart. He wanted to woo someone, to convince them slowly, to beckon them to him and string them along until finally they could no longer deny him. He wanted passion and desire, not coy obedience and a quick tryst.

"Your Majesty," the boy repeated now that he had his attention, before demurely leaning in for a kiss.

He was too eager, Lyron thought again, rabid in his interest and his desire to bed the king.

A knock on the door saved him the choice between another insufficient romp and the irritation of finding another companion.

"Come in," he said and sat up, knocking his paramour off of him. The boy pouted and looked disappointed by the interruption, before latching on to Lyron's arm to try tempting him from distraction.

Louis entered the room, as detached and impassive as he always was, but Lyron felt his passion stir. Louis was not as young as the boy, but he was reserved, stoic, a quiet, phlegmatic doll, and Lyron thrilled in melting his cold, frozen heart.

He disregarded Louis' negligence in capturing Wolfram. He would not soon forget it, not after his hopes of attaining the Demon Prince had grown so high, but he could be generous. He could forgive; he could bestow a second chance.

"Louis," he said, ignoring the boy on his arm and the needy lips that suckled his neck.

"Your Majesty," Louis bowed with his eyes lowered, acquiescent, and his voice undemonstrative. "His Grace the Duke of Grafton sends me to disclose new information."

"Robert has news?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. As you are aware, the new king of Cimaron, His Majesty King Varick, has recently traveled to the Great Demon Kingdom in the hopes of acquiring a treaty between himself and His Majesty King Yuuri."

"Go on."

"I regret that I must inform you that such an agreement seems likely. King Varick and King Yuuri have been deep in negotiations for the past several days. There is talk of a marriage between King Yuuri's daughter, the Princess Greta, former daughter of the Grand Duchess of Zoracia, and King Varick's younger brother and current heir, the Crown Prince Arthur."

Lyron frowned. "Is that so?"

"Furthermore, it would seem as if King Yuuri intends to support King Varick against us."

"They will both war with us?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Louis said, dull green eyes trained on the floor. "Caloria as well, we presume. King Varick and Lady Flynn are contracted to be wed."

Lyron chuckled darkly, though he was far from amused. He was not surprised by these turn of events, but it was disappointing nonetheless.

"Boy," he said, shaking the fervid youth from his arm. "Leave us now."

The boy pouted again and shot a glare at Louis, as if to accuse him for the sudden dismissal. Louis did not spare him a single glance, and when the boy got no reaction from either of them he slid from the bed and procured his discarded clothing, shielding himself with the pile as he scampered from the room.

Lyron waited until the door had closed before leaving the bed. He discarded the sheet that concealed his lower half and stood from the mattress, slowly approaching Louis, whose eyes remained dutifully lowered. Lyron observed him, examining his downturned face, cleared of the bruises that had colored it previously.

"Yuuri is more of a fool than I thought if he thinks to side against me," he said.

"The Demon King truly underestimates you," Louis agreed.

Lyron's lips quirked. Gently, he grasped Louis' chin with his hand and brought his head up, forcing Louis to meet his eye. Louis did not fight it and stared back at him dispassionately, as if he felt nothing by being in the room with him now.

"I have been unkind to you," Lyron said, stroking his thumb over Louis' lips.

"You have shown me great kindness, Your Majesty," Louis replied. "You have taken me from my father's misery and lifted me to such esteem."

"I have mistreated you," Lyron argued in response. He felt remorse for it now, though he would not apologize. A king did not apologize for anything, for a king was never wrong.

"You must do as you will," Louis told him.

"I have missed you."

"I apologize for my absence," Louis responded automatically. "I had thought you did not wish to see me."

"There are few as loyal as you, Louis, and even fewer who please me as you can."

He felt his blood heating at Louis' cold, unresponsive statements. Lyron did not know how he had passed four weeks without him. Louis' silence, his dim, quiet stares and his aloof behavior excited him. He wanted to hear Louis moan, see his eyes darken, feel his body respond to his every touch, while Louis continued to deny feeling anything.

Was he pretending, or was he genuinely empty?

Even Lyron didn't know.

"I will make it up to you," Lyron decided, framing Louis' face with both of his hands, a gesture that was both fond and possessive. "There will be an announcement. The court will know that you are mine."

"They have been aware that I am yours, Your Majesty."

"But we will make it official."

"I cannot think your wife will be very pleased. She is already quite distressed by the way in which you treat her, and the many rumors around court of the individuals you have taken as lovers."

"My wife is not important until she presents me with an heir," Lyron said. "I will do as I please and take as many lovers as I wish."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"But for now, you are enough," he decreed, seeing no need to disguise his hunger. "Will you come to my bed, Louis?"

He knew that Louis would not deny him – it was not in his nature to do so – but he still felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him when Louis' head lowered in a nod. Lyron drew him back, leading him toward his bed, slowly peeling off the layers of Louis' clothing.

He was an impulsive man. He acted rashly on his anger, violent in the face of failure and treachery, but to those who proved their worth, to those who showed their fidelity and allegiance, he could be charitable and gift his subjects a great bounty. It was true that Louis had committed a critical blunder and had defied his orders in harming Wolfram, but Louis remained his most trusted servant. Louis alone was both his sword and sheath, disposing of his enemies and opening his body to Lyron's desires.

And he would need Louis soon, to fulfill his plans, to achieve his pleasure, and to demonstrate to Yuuri just how ruthless an enemy he could be.

Yuuri had made a grave mistake in allying himself with Varick. One day he would know it, when his kingdom was overrun and his body lay at Lyron's feet, and all that he possessed was left in Lyron's keeping.

"Long live the Demon King and his Demon Whore."

Everything would come crumbling down, and Wolfram and the Demon Kingdom would be his.

* * *

The court had convened again, in the Great Hall this time, where Yuuri sat in the middle of a long table at the front of the room. His surroundings were decorated with garlands of green leaves and blossoming flowers in every color – red, blue, white, purple – but the most prominent of all was yellow, characteristic of sunshine, happiness, and hope, and shown through Lady Celi's most cheerful flower, Beautiful Wolfram.

They littered the tables and filled each vase and centerpiece. Greta and Merry had wreaths of them strung around their heads, Alexei and Brigitta had skillfully crafted flower necklaces around their necks, and Yuuri had one pinned to his jacket, bright and festive against the black.

He and Varick sat together, side by side, both anxiously waiting, both excited. Wolfram and Arthur flanked them on opposite sides, Arthur grinning widely and Wolfram grasping Yuuri's hand beneath the table. The court was mostly quiet but for a few whispers that rippled through the crowd. The Aristocrats stood in a single line before the head table, with the remainder of the nobility gathered behind them, peering around for a better look.

Finally, Gwendal approached holding a large sheet of parchment. It was covered in decorative, formal writing. He held it up for both Yuuri and Varick to witness, and spoke to all assembled in a strong, clear voice.

"This treaty," he said, "binds the Great Demon Kingdom and Big Cimaron in friendship and perpetual peace. Big Cimaron will henceforth be accepted into the Great Demon Kingdom Alliance. May you never break the bonds that shall be put in place."

Gwendal placed the parchment in front of them, flat on the table. Gunter and Mikhail von Karbelnikoff approached with two pots of black ink and two feather quills. Yuuri and Varick each took one and, standing from their chairs, they leaned over the document and scrawled their names in unison.

The room erupted into cheers and applause. Yuuri smiled when he finished, returning his quill to Gunter. Varick returned his satisfied expression as Gwendal took the treaty to be stamped with the royal seal. An informal treaty had been signed in Yuuri's office that morning, but with their signatures now adorning the formal one, and the entire court present to bear witness, their decision to join as allies was made even more official. Yuuri could hardly believe they had accomplished it, after all this time.

"Thank you," Yuuri said to Varick over the noise of the crowd. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."

"I should be thanking you," Varick countered, his voice lighter and less nervous than Yuuri had yet to hear it. "You have done me a great honor. With this I can return home in triumph. It is an enormous victory so soon into my reign."

Yuuri nodded and held out his hand. Varick took it firmly. For a moment they stood staring at one another, but eventually drew closer to embrace. The crowd cheered again. From this day on, Yuuri and Varick would be as brothers, and the Great Demon Kingdom could only prosper.

They had finally done what Yuuri had yearned to do from the moment he'd been made aware of the hostilities between humans and the demon tribe. They were at peace.

The celebrations commenced shortly after. Yuuri and Varick returned to their seats, dinner was announced, and the nobility took their places around the room. Platters of scrumptious dishes were presented and chosen from, wine was poured, consumed and refilled liberally, lively music enticed a few to dance, and the Great Hall overflowed with joy and laughter.

Yuuri glanced around as he devoured his dish of seasoned meat. Gunter was dancing with Gisela, who had been away from the castle so often recently, joined on the floor by Elizabeth and Murata; Lady Celi sat with Wolfgang, affectionate and beaming as she poured him another glass of wine. Gwendal spoke serenely to Mikhail and Julius, and even consented to be polite and appear interested when Anissina approached to join their discussion. Alexei sat beside them, watching the activity in the room with wide eyes over his goblet of juice. Even Auberon and the Lady Aristocrats seemed tame, enjoying their dinners as they spoke amongst themselves.

Hube was with his family, holding his small son in his lap with Nicola beside him. Greta sat talking with Prince Arthur and – of all people – Adalbert, who drank his wine and laughed freely, no longer in exile, no longer infuriated. After all, Yuuri had brought the peace and cooperation Julia had wanted. What reason did he have to be angry?

At that thought, Yuuri looked behind his shoulder to find Conrad standing guard, but with an obviously pleased smile on his face instead of his usual bland one. Yuuri grinned and lifted his glass to him, downing the rest of his wine in a single gulp. A maid was over in seconds to provide him with more.

"You don't have to stand guard tonight, Conrad," Yuuri told him, smiling in thanks when the maid curtsied and disappeared to serve someone else.

"I can't think of any other way to spend my evening," Conrad replied tranquilly.

Yuuri released a snort that turned into a laugh. He felt light, elated – drunk on more than just wine. "Why don't you dance?" he suggested.

"I'm not much of a dancer."

"Oh, bull!" Yuuri said. He paused to look around for someone to partner with Conrad. "Katherine!" he called when he spotted the nanny on Wolfram's other side. She was in the process of passing Merry to him. Brigitta pranced about at her feet and climbed into an empty chair on Wolfram's left.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Katherine asked while Wolfram turned to him, exasperated by his behavior.

Yuuri ignored the unimpressed look on Wolfram's face and took another gulp of his drink. "I'm assuming you can dance," he said.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then dance with Conrad. I don't want him lurking behind me all night."

Katherine appeared conflicted, obligated to follow a direct order from the king but hesitant to comply when she had her duties to attend to. "But the children…"

"I'll watch them," Wolfram said, setting Merry into his lap. "Go before Yuuri makes a scene."

"I'm not going to make a scene," Yuuri argued through a huge grin.

"You're already drunk."

"I'm not," Yuuri denied. "You've never seen me drunk."

"Then you're well on your way to getting there."

"Okay, then distract me and dance with me," Yuuri changed track as his mind shifted gears.

"I thought you wanted Conrad and Katherine to dance."

"I did, but then I realized I wanted to dance with you. You understand, don't you, Kat?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the nanny agreed. Yuuri thought she looked amused.

"Sorry, Conrad," Yuuri continued. "Looks like it'll have to wait. Katherine's got to stay and watch the kids instead."

"That's quite disappointing," Conrad indulged him. Yuuri thought he looked amused as well.

Yuuri waited for Wolfram to hand Merry back to Katherine. The baby whined despondently, upset that he'd had Wolfram's attention for only a few moments before being returned to his nanny. Merry pouted and reached out imploringly, but Yuuri took Wolfram by the hand and led him away. He grinned at Merry over his shoulder and gave a playful wave, to which Merry responded with a defeated frown and narrowed eyes and looked away.

His spirits soaring, Yuuri took Wolfram onto the dance floor. Those that had been dancing before ceased and melted back into the crowd, leaving them alone in the center of the room. Yuuri's smile diminished into something that was not as rowdy, but fond. He took the yellow blossom pinned to his jacket and tucked it behind one of Wolfram's ears.

"You look beautiful," he said.

"You're ridiculous," Wolfram responded as they began to dance. He might appear more exasperated than anything else, but Yuuri could detect a hint of amusement in his voice, and his cheeks flushed lightly.

"Can't I be happy?" Yuuri asked, staring into his eyes.

"Yes, but you could act a bit more refined."

"Everyone's always telling me to be more refined, but I think I'm doing okay."

Wolfram had nothing to say against him. He rolled his eyes as his mouth curved upward.

"Are _you_ happy, Wolf?" Yuuri wondered, calming down enough to grow slightly more serious.

His husband took a moment to answer, but when he did he was smiling tenderly at Yuuri. "Yes, I am."

"Even though I'm not the easiest person to live with? Even though I'm stupid, and I make mistakes, and I'm not as noble and dignified as everyone wants me to be?"

"You're not stupid, Yuuri," Wolfram said. "And everyone makes mistakes. You've fixed yours."

"All of them?" Yuuri asked, staring deep into his eyes.

The biggest mistake he'd ever made had been hurting Wolfram, denying him for so long, pulling him close only to push him away again. Now he couldn't even consider rebuffing him, but he could still remember all the pain he'd caused. He'd disregarded Wolfram's feelings, had failed to understand them – hadn't wanted to. He'd been so afraid of the commitment, of what it would mean about himself and his sexuality, that he'd brought pain and heartache to the one person he should never have allowed himself to hurt.

"Yes," Wolfram replied, staring back. "All of them."

Yuuri tried to image what life would be like now if they'd remained as they'd been exactly one year ago, but he couldn't. Wolfram had become such an integral part of his existence. There wasn't a moment that went by that Yuuri's didn't relish Wolfram's company, his smell, his concern, his devotion. Every day he awoke to Wolfram beside him, warm and content; every night he went to sleep with a kiss on his lips and a fire in his heart.

They continued to dance, quiet now with their gazes locked. Yuuri led and Wolfram followed, nimble steps Yuuri easily executed. He had grown, and he had changed; they both had. They were not boys anymore, but men. They had come into their own, and with Wolfram Yuuri had gained the strength to be what he had been born to become – a king.

When the music ended, they came to a stop in the center of the floor. Yuuri kept Wolfram in his arms, gazing down at him while Wolfram looked up and smiled. Around them, the court clapped politely, but Yuuri could see none of their faces. In his world at that moment – amidst success and happiness – all he could see was Wolfram.

A year ago, his feelings had been a mystery to him. He thought they still were, but he was getting closer, and he knew Wolfram would be patient. Wolfram would guide him, and show him what it meant to cherish someone deeply, completely. When he was ready, when he knew, Wolfram would be there – of that he was sure.

"I love you," Wolfram said, quiet beneath the applause of the court.

Yuuri's wide smile slid back into place. He pulled Wolfram closer, pressed him to his heart, and caught his lips in a passionate kiss.

The crowd cheered and Wolfram melted against him.

Much of the last five years had not passed as Yuuri would have preferred, but in the end he thought he'd prevailed where it mattered most. Here, in this moment, he knew that he'd made it.

This was perfect. He and Wolfram were perfect.

And they would face the next part of their lives – together.

**TBC in the Epilogue…**


	30. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Kyou Kara Maou or any of its characters. All of the original characters were, however, created by me.

**Beta-ed by:** Guine-chan

**Warnings:** None for the Epilogue.

**Pairings(s):** Yuuri/Wolfram

**Rating:** M

**A/N:** To those who questioned the lack of total resolution in the last chapter: there will be a sequel. _Love and War _was always meant to end without complete resolution. Yuuri has accepted his relationship with Wolfram and made peace with Cimaron, now it's time to move forward, and to do that _Love and War _must come to a close and the sequel must begin.

I apologize for not getting back to the reviews I've received for Chapter 29 yet, but since I planned on posting the epilogue this week as well I decided to wait until I had sufficient time to respond to everyone's comments for both Chapter 29 as well as the epilogue. Aniluja, you can definitely expect a nice, long response once I have the time to sit down and type it! Thank you all so much, and enjoy!

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_**Love and War**_

**by Mikage**

**Epilogue – Chérir – To Cherish**

He awoke to a darkened room, the same room he had been in to greet the mornings for the last five years, in the same bed, and with the same partner – or so he thought. At first, he didn't know what drew him out of the emptiness of his unconscious mind, and pulled him from the insubstantial dream whose image fled at the first flutter of his eyes. When he turned over to sling his arm around the young man beside him, he met nothing but a warm mattress and knew in an instant what had disturbed him.

Even in his dreams, he was alert enough to notice Wolfram's absence.

Groggily, Yuuri pushed himself up to look for his husband. The bed curtains had been pushed apart on Wolfram's side of the bed, but no light came through, and he heard not a single sound that would reveal Wolfram's presence. He could make out the shapes of the furniture through the darkness, but nothing more. Everything was still and quiet. He heard not a breath, nor a sigh, nor a quiet whisper, just the stirring of the blankets as he moved and the beating of his own heart.

He slid out of bed. On the side table were the stubs of candles that had burned out earlier in the night. He tried to light them with his magic and frowned when he had no success, shoving them to the floor in his impatience and crossing the room to the tall windows. He ripped the curtains open with the intention of using the starlight to seek out his erstwhile companion, but was met instead with the first glowing rays of dawn. He blinked at the realization that the entire night had already passed him by, then shook his head and turned to continue his search.

"Wolfram?" he called, and was met with silence.

A vacant room greeted him, large and cold and desolate, filling him with the sort of loneliness experienced only by those accustomed to little privacy and constant support, and found themselves suddenly alienated from all that was familiar. For a moment, he was disoriented by the abnormality of waking up alone. His hand fell from the curtain to hang limply at his side, as his eyes uselessly scanned the room again, looking for anything he might have missed, only to turn up nothing. Everything was in its proper place, except for Wolfram, and there was no sign of him anywhere.

Confused, Yuuri grabbed his shirt from the day before and hastily pulled it on, leaving the buttons undone as he went to the door to look into the hall. The guards were all standing as they should be, guarding the royal hall with a diligence Yuuri had previously deemed unnecessary, but would never again go without. They turned when they saw him, straightening at their posts and performing their usual round of salutes, which he waved off with a quick motion of his hand.

"Have any of you seen Wolfram?" he asked, looking from one to the other in the hopes that they would be able to alleviate his sudden anxiety.

"Yes, Your Majesty," one of the men posted at his door replied with a nod. "He went to the little prince's room."

Yuuri did not allow himself to sigh. There was no need for him to act like this, and no reason why his soldiers should be made aware of his concern. All was well now; the castle was peaceful and safe. Nothing would befall his husband while he traveled between rooms. Wolfram would always be watched and protected, and to consider the possibility of any sort of foul play while Yuuri lied asleep and unaware was to give in to paranoia.

He smiled at the announcement. "Right," he said, relieved but unsurprised. "Thank you."

He left them to their duties and followed the hall to Merry's room, pausing at the door to listen for any sounds from inside, and when he heard none he took the handle and pushed it open as quietly as he could.

He looked toward the crib first, expecting to find Wolfram leaning over it to gaze down at the baby within, then to the rocking chair where he thought he might be resting. When neither place showed any sign of life, either that of his husband or Merry, Yuuri stepped further into the room to perform a more thorough exploration, and found the subject of his quest in the opposite direction.

Wolfram stood by the windows, the curtains parted to let in the morning light, which glinted off of his hair and gave his skin a golden hue. He had a light robe over his nightshirt and slippers on his feet, and the side of his face was marked with faint sleep lines. Merry was in his arms, fondly cradled to his chest as he slept, with his little head on Wolfram's shoulder and his tiny mouth parted as he breathed. Wolfram rocked him back and forth, shifting from one foot to the next as he hummed a quiet lullaby.

Anyone else would have looked in on the scene and thought Wolfram was simply comforting a distressed child, but Yuuri knew that Wolfram was there not for Merry, but for himself.

"Hey," Yuuri said, softly, so as not to startle him or wake the baby.

Wolfram turned to him, his eyes dark with emotion. "Hi," he returned the greeting in a brittle voice.

Yuuri felt his concern grow, but in a different way. Wolfram was well enough physically, but his emotional state seemed to be less than stellar. "What's wrong?" he asked, shutting the door to allow for some privacy.

Wolfram didn't answer him and went back to staring out the window, hugging Merry to him tightly.

Sighing, Yuuri slowly approached him. He stopped behind him to place his hands on Wolfram's arms, stroking them comfortingly. "I woke up and you weren't there," he told him.

"Mmm," Wolfram agreed, his gaze remaining focused ahead.

Yuuri frowned lightly, not very reassured by the response. "Will you tell me what's bothering you?"

Initially, he was unsure if Wolfram was going to reply. His husband didn't look to be in the mood for a conversation, even if Yuuri was certain he was in desperate need of someone to talk to. He'd been aware of Wolfram's building emotions for a while now, and had wondered when they would reach the point that he could no longer function properly under their influence.

Yuuri waited patiently, and when after a few moments he opened his mouth to prod him again, Wolfram explained, "Today is your twentieth birthday."

He hadn't expected that. The encroaching date of his birth had almost slipped his mind. In his perpetual work for the cause of peace, the days tended to mesh together, and before he realized it a whole week had gone by, then a month, then a year. He could have gone through the entire day without noticing that he'd grown older.

But Wolfram, naturally, would remember.

"I was thinking about when we first met," Wolfram elaborated, sounding no less melancholy than he had before, "and how things have changed since then, how they're still changing…"

"It's for the better, isn't it?" Yuuri asked, running his hands down Wolfram's arms, careful not to disturb Merry from his slumber.

"Greta's going to be married."

Silence held them in its grasp. Yuuri couldn't think of how to respond to the comment without dampening the mood even more. He wanted to support Greta in her decision and encourage her to be a wise and thoughtful princess, but he couldn't find much to like about the idea of marrying her to the prince of Cimaron. It seemed heartless to expect her to commit to a relationship that, while it embraced tolerance and respect, would be devoid of love.

"I want her to be happy," Wolfram spoke for him, mirroring his thoughts exactly, but adding to the end, "I want her to have all the things that I didn't."

"What don't you have, Wolf?" Yuuri voiced the question with some confusion, wondering if he had overlooked something and failed to give Wolfram everything he could ever want or need.

"We married for politics," his husband's reply only heightened his concern. "We never had the chance to love one another the way we should have. We were just pawns in a stupid game between the Aristocrats, and Lyron…" He trailed off, and Yuuri watched him shake thoughts of his antagonist from his mind. "I don't want that for her. My mother once told me that she didn't want me to end up like her. I don't want Greta to end up like me."

"Then… you're not happy?"

Yuuri felt his heart plummet and his stomach twist uncomfortably. He wondered if Wolfram had been lying to him before, when he'd told him he'd fixed things between then, when he'd claimed to be happy after the treaty with Cimaron had been signed. Yuuri didn't know what he'd do if, after everything he'd already tried, after everything he'd been through, Wolfram remained unhappy. There wasn't anything more he thought he could do for him. He didn't want to give up – he wouldn't – but sometimes Wolfram's distant, evasive behavior and his recurring stress and sadness made Yuuri feel as lost as before.

Wolfram whirled around to face him, his dark eyes flickering with a tangle of thoughts and feelings, brightening in his distress and his need to convince Yuuri of his contentment. "I am!" he exclaimed, and when he noticed his voice had raised and threatened to wake Merry, he immediately lowered it. "I am happy," he asserted, "but when have I ever had a choice in what happens to me?"

There wasn't a single answer Yuuri could give that Wolfram wouldn't twist around to make it fit his own point of view. He knew by now not to question him about the way in which he viewed himself, and the position Wolfram thought he had in the world. For his part, Yuuri tried to allow Wolfram to have as much of a choice as he felt comfortable giving him, but there were times when he could understand why his husband might feel trapped by fate.

Not much _had_ been Wolfram's choice up until this point. He'd had little say in the engagement; when he'd attempted to break it through their dual, he'd only found himself further bound by chains of pride and duty, which had quickly been replaced by the bond of love, a power much more difficult to break. He'd been manipulated and controlled, by the Great One, by his family, by the Aristocrats, and even, Yuuri would admit, by his own husband.

He was as guilty as the others were when it came to denying Wolfram the right to make his own decisions, however much he tried to treat him fairly. His only consolation was that everything he did to and for him was done in the ongoing crusade to keep him safe and happy. Part of it was selfishness, so that he could have Wolfram at his side, but part of it was also to make up for all the pain he'd put him through, all the anguish he'd brought to his mind, and all the damage he'd done to his heart.

"I want Greta to have that choice," Wolfram said, meeting Yuuri's eyes and holding his gaze determinedly.

"It _was_ her choice, Wolfram," Yuuri reminded him. "As much as I don't like it..."

"Was it?" he wondered. "Or did she agree because she felt obligated? Because she felt it's what was expected?"

Yuuri paused and frowned further. If Wolfram was right, then he was even less inclined to go along with it than he'd been before. "You're making me not want to allow this."

"Sometimes I wish you wouldn't," Wolfram admitted. "I don't want to lose her, but I will eventually, won't I? She is human, after all," he said as his expression grew sad. "She's almost as old as you were when you came here."

Yuuri considered this for a moment, and noticed how closely Greta was following in their footsteps. Now she was fifteen, and she was already engaged to be married to a man she barely even knew. In marrying him she would be the princess of a foreign land, and there was a chance, if fate chose her as its instrument, that she may one day be a Queen.

"Things have turned out alright for us, though, haven't they?" he tried, hoping that Greta would at least have the sort of relationship they did, built on mutual fondness and respect.

Wolfram's protestations came to an end as he was forced to agree, and his mouth formed a shallow smile. "Better than I could have imagined," he said.

"Then don't worry," Yuuri told him, stroking his arms again. "She's not leaving right away, and even when she does, we'll still be here for her when she needs us."

Wolfram nodded, and though his smile remained, his eyes grew grim with sadness. "When I think of her leaving, I remember how little time you and I have together," he declared. "One day you'll both be gone, and all I'll have left is Merry."

Yuuri shook his head at him, watching the way his arms tightened around their son, and he began to understand why Wolfram was so attached to the baby, why he handled him so differently. Merry was a full-blooded demon, and therefore the only member of their family other than Wolfram himself who'd have a prolonged life. Wolfram took comfort in that, and held tightly to the knowledge that when his husband and daughter were gone, he would still have Merry to give his heart to.

"Don't think like that," Yuuri pled with him. He liked thinking of his impending encounter with old age and death even less than Wolfram did, and didn't want such morbid things to plague Wolfram's mind.

"But it's true."

"No," he refused. "You'll have me for as long as you want me, Wolf. I swear it."

"That would be forever," Wolfram confessed, "for an eternity."

"It will be. I'm not going to be the one to leave you."

It was the one thing that he, as king, had absolutely no control over, yet he was determined to somehow stall the process before there was such a large difference between them that it could no longer be believed that they were once the same. He had so much that he wanted to do and not enough time to do it in. There were still things he'd yet to accomplish, things he'd yet to prove.

Wolfram didn't look as if he believed him, but he nodded regardless. He smiled at him, leaning in for an affectionate nuzzle, before turning to look out the window once again. Yuuri stood with him, sliding an arm behind Wolfram'ss back to wrap it around his waist. He pulled Wolfram against his side, and held him there securely.

"In just one more month, we'll have been married for an entire year," Wolfram observed, laying his head onto Yuuri's shoulder.

"It doesn't feel like it's been that long."

In fact, it felt like it could have happened the day before. He could see the autumn leaves in his mind, red and gold, orange and yellow, hanging precariously on the branches before detaching to be carried away on a cool breeze. He could hear the chattering voices of their guests, and recalled the gratification he'd seen in Gunter, Conrad, and his father as they'd come to take their places, each of them as responsible for his growth as the last. Most of all, he could see Wolfram, apprehensive but refined as he walked down the aisle, reaching him with a steady gaze and warm, soft hands.

"Do you remember how you felt that day?" Wolfram asked, sounding more wistful now than sad.

"Nervous, scared," Yuuri replied truthfully. "It was surreal. And you seemed worried, but you were still so calm about everything…"

"I wasn't," Wolfram admitted. "I was a wreck. I don't know how I managed to hide it. I've never felt so sick in my life."

"Why?"

He couldn't remember a time in which he'd admired Wolfram more. He'd spoken so strongly, so confidently, and had helped Yuuri overcome his own insecurities throughout the ceremony - holding his hands, patiently waiting for him to respond, taking control of the kiss Yuuri hadn't felt comfortable enough to establish. Wolfram had done it all despite his own doubts, and he'd done it with as much conviction as he put into everything.

"Don't you see how drastically my life changed?" Wolfram prompted him. "Look out there," he said, and directed Yuuri's eyes through the window and onto the land below. "That's your kingdom. _My_ kingdom."

It was a brilliant sight. The night sky was slowly lightening in color, changing from blackness and stars to a gradient of blue, and to a beautiful cerulean along the horizon, where the sun blazed over the hills. It spread its warmth over the fields, seeping into the towns and villages and bringing them to life. From their castle on the top of the summit, Yuuri could see the capital beginning to stir, slowly growing more active as the villagers arose to see the day.

"When I stood outside the door, waiting to walk down the aisle, I was standing at a boundary between my life as who I'd always been, and the life I would be expected to lead from that moment on," Wolfram explained, lifting his head from Yuuri's shoulder to stand straight, as if he were waiting there again. "I had obligations before, but I also had freedom. I could have stopped being a soldier at any moment. I could have found another occupation, one that I would have enjoyed more, one that would have been less dangerous, one that would have been less of a sacrifice.

"But I can never stop being a prince," he continued, and Yuuri was struck with the realization of just how much Wolfram had truly endured. "No matter how poorly people think of me, or how much I want to do something for myself, there will always be that duty. I can never escape from it."

Wolfram frowned, his eyes locked on the bustling town below. Yuuri tightened his arm around him, and stroked Wolfram's side through his nightshirt and robe, beginning to understand what it must have been like. He'd experienced a similar feeling of confinement when he'd been pressured to make the decision to become king. He'd simply been a normal boy, then suddenly and without warning he'd been thrust into a world of warfare and politics, standing on the brink of adulthood while feeling like nothing more than a small child, lost in to a destiny that threatened to consume him alive.

"I knew as I stood in front of that door that I would be asked to give myself to the kingdom, wholeheartedly and without regrets," Wolfram finished, his profile haloed by glowing sunlight.

"And did you?" Yuuri asked.

Regret was something he'd struggled with since the moment they'd met. He continued to struggle with it to this day, as he looked back on his mistakes and the problems that had led to them, and thought that there was surely an easier solution.

But Wolfram shook his head, turning to smile at him with eyes that sparkled with joy and affection. "No," he replied, "because I didn't give myself to the kingdom. I gave myself to you," he said, his voice growing hoarse as his throat tightened. "And it's made all the difference. It's made everything worth it."

Yuuri's eyes stung, and he felt his heart give a familiar, painful squeeze, one he hadn't experienced since he'd begun to take their relationship more seriously. He responded to it by relinquishing reaction to his instincts, and pulled Wolfram to him to take his mouth into a firm kiss. Merry remained between them, and Wolfram's hold on him never loosened, but Yuuri embraced him tightly enough for the both of them.

Even now he didn't know what he'd done to deserve Wolfram's everlasting devotion, or how he'd been lucky enough to have someone like him in his life. Wolfram was many things Yuuri had thought he'd never want, but he was also everything he could ever need. He was a friend and a partner, the person he looked to for advice and guidance when no one else seemed to understand, the person he turned to for comfort when the universe turned upside-down, and the person whose unconditional allegiance gave him the strength and the courage to be everything he'd never known he could be.

Yuuri knew that this could not last forever, that inevitably things would change – problems would arise, promises would be broken, and his and Wolfram's relationship would be tried and tested. That was life; it was how things were meant to be, and there would be no avoiding it.

But Yuuri also knew that, through it all, he would never stop wanting Wolfram, never stop needing him, because Wolfram was now a part of him – his body, his heart, and his soul. He would never be alone, and he knew – for the first time – what that warmth was that rose into his chest when Wolfram smiled at him, what caused that twinge in his heart when Wolfram was upset. It came to him suddenly, but when he finally realized it, it was as if he'd always known. He simply hadn't had the words to describe it.

He had the words now, and they felt truer than anything he'd ever said.

Yuuri broke the kiss but continued to hold Wolfram close, moving his lips to his cheek, then his forehead, burying his face into his hair as he breathed in deeply.

"I love you, Wolfram."

**The End of **_**Love and War**_

**To be continued in **_**Between Kings**_**…**

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A/N:** And so this concludes _Love and War_! It's been a fun and very long ride, but it feels right to end it now. I realize there are still things left unfinished, such as the business with the traitor (I'm still interested in seeing who you guys think it is), Yuuri's issues with his other half, and Isidore vs. the Great Demon Kingdom. _Love and War_ was always meant to be one part of a three part story. Yuuri has finally solved his issues with Cimaron; now he'll have to deal with Isidore and political unrest in his own kingdom. The traitor and the fallout of his or her actions will be covered extensively in the sequel, _Between Kings_, which I hope to begin work on soon.

I can say that _Between Kings_ will be even heavier on emotional drama than _Love and War_ has been. _Love and War_ has had a few physical bouts to go along with the emotional stress the characters were under, but _Between Kings _will be all about emotional battles, so be prepared.

Here are some things to look forward to in the sequel: more intimacy between Yuuri and Wolfram right from the start (physical and emotional), more betrayals, a thickening feud between two families, the traitor revealed, two weddings, a new baby (whatever will Merry do with all this divided attention?), a glimpse into Louis' past, a kidnapping, torture, and character death (minor/original characters only). So, yeah. Lots going on there.

However, there are still a couple of things I have planned for _Love and War_, and hopefully I can get them done by the end of the year (sort of as a Christmas/New Year's present, I guess). I'll be compiling all of the chapters into a PDF file to put up for download on my writing livejournal (you can find the link for the journal in my profile), complete with a few edited scenes and even a couple of additional ones, as well as profiles for the original characters and some of my notes for character and plot development. I also hope to have a collection of music uploaded - songs that I've listened to as I've been writing.

I guess that's it for now! I hope to hear from you all again during the sequel! Thank you so much for reading, especially those of you who've stuck around from the beginning, but also those of you who may be newer readers! All of you have made the experience a joyful one, and I couldn't ask for better readers! I love you all, and thank you again!


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